The Pendulum Swings
by Syn-c0p-e
Summary: Two middle-aged people try to adjust their pendulums so they swing together. In other words Huddy. First posted at Fox Forums but rating heading for something higher than PG-13.
1. Absence makes the fond heart wander

Summary: Err… tricky, can I just say Huddy and go from there?

Disclaimer: yeah, right, I have the talent and skill to create such complete and rounded characters wrapped up in intelligent, often thought provoking scripts. I'm just playing your toys because it's fun. But just in case TPTB are reading genuflects saying 'Please do not sue. Please do not sue. The voices make me do it.'

Also, I'm a Brit please forgive me my spelling, grammar, phraseology. Started at the beginning of last year, so consider AU from JTTW.

Finally, first time posting here, first House fic – be gentle with me! First posted at Fox Forums but rating heading higher than PG-13.

I think that's it, please read and enjoy. Reviews are cherished.

* * *

.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The grandfather clock marks the passage of time in a deep, regular rhythm. It swings backwards and forwards in equal amounts, finely balanced. If it were weighted differently, the balance would be wrong, the rhythm would be lost. A long, slow sweep of the pendulum and a moment passes, measuring out a life, your life. Yet, with each moment, a change could happen, the pendulum could be pushed, pulled… stopped. Change… an outside influence, affecting the balance, disrupting the rhythm, spoiling the moment, upsetting a life.

Life ticks away in moments and passes in minutes, hours, days… years. From life to death, misery to happiness, another day survived, another year of sleep, eat, work, repeat until bored or dead. As Thomas La Mance once said (by way of the philosopher Lennon) 'Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans'. Plans are made, sometimes, actions taken but the more people try to order and control their lives, the more the possibility arises that along comes chaos, with an evil laugh, to intervene. Change is introduced. Sometimes that change is welcome, sometimes not – although at the time, it is nearly always seen as a bad thing. However, the pendulum may wobble, but, if it swings on, the moment may complete, there's a chance that the balance may be re-established – that life continues.

For Dr. Lisa Cuddy life had changed with the introduction of a baby girl, with all the expectation of the joy of motherhood.

For Dr. Gregory House life had changed with the introduction of a baby girl, with all the expectation of the misery of motherhood.

So far so good, the balance was maintained – her heart full of happiness, his leg full of pain.

Lisa Cuddy had been at home for a week, bonding with her foster baby. She loved the baby, wanted so much to make a difference to the baby's future, looked forward to mother and daughter bonding, felt the joy in her heart – but her mind was aghast at the bomb site her house was, the way time disappeared with washing, cleaning, feeding, shopping and a thousand different chores she'd never had to do before. As a doctor she should be used to lack of sleep, but she couldn't find things, everything was so messy, she hated that. Lisa Cuddy did not do disorganised.

Greg House had wallowed pleasantly in her absence from work, telling Wilson, his team and any body within hailing distance how wonderful it was not to have her breathing down his neck, nagging him to do his clinic hours, yelling at him for playing his guitar. It would have to be this week that his leg was giving him so many bad pain days. Had an interesting case come his way things might have been different, but it hadn't, therefore his mind was free to wander and to find ways to entertain itself. Somehow, it kept swinging back to Cuddy.

She hadn't thought about him all week. Actually, that was a lie – she hoped he wasn't causing chaos, putting noses out of joint, treading on any toes, taking any body's head off literally or figuratively, and, just occasionally, very occasionally you understand, wondering if he would pay a visit. Not surprised when he didn't, but a little disappointed.

He considered Cuddy and the baby. He wasn't interested in the baby, not that he disliked babies per se, it was just the way they were a black hole for attention and emotions, sucking the common sense out of a room full of people who'd ohh and arhh over it and make fatuous remarks about how it had it's father's nose when it was impossible to tell at that age – and the father probably wasn't the father anyway. He'd had the conversation with Cuddy about the trials and tribulations of raising a kid, not that she listened – no, she listened, she just couldn't see the huge gap between wanting a baby and having a baby, and all the reality in between. At least this one was returnable. It wasn't that he didn't want her to have a baby, he was pleased for her in a way, he just didn't want her not to be where he wanted her. So he wondered how she was coping with the realities of motherhood, so different from the dewy eyed idealism of her dreams – and pretended his leg wasn't any more painful than usual.


	2. Change is Inevitable

Chapter 2

Change is inevitable, except from vending machines and Gregory House.

House gate-crashed Wilson's visit to Cuddy. Wilson shrugged apologetically to Cuddy as they entered her home. She'd indicated it was of no consequence. Wilson had brought a large soft-toy that looked like a monkey. "It reminded me of someone", he said as he gave it to Cuddy, "I can't think who for the moment" he continued, glancing at House. She smiled as she accepted the gift, "Yes, I see what you mean, must be a relative".

House proffered nothing, took a couple of seconds to look at the baby, turned to Wilson and said "It's life, Jim, but not as we know it" before prowling round the nursery. He prodded and poked the soft toys, before starting to juggle with them while Wilson did the cooing over the baby.

He'd butted in when the baby's name was mentioned. "Rachel! That's means 'ewe' as in female sheep. You could at least have chosen Rebecca…… that means to bind, which would be more realistic."

They turned to stare at him.

"How can you possibly know these things?" Wilson had asked. House shrugged.

"So I take it you know the meaning of James?" Wilson added.

"Supplanter", he'd glanced at Cuddy, "Lisa, diminutive of Elizabeth**,** Oath of God or Consecrated to God."

"And Gregory?" asked Cuddy.

He'd paused a moment before muttering "Watchful, vigilant".

Bored with the toys, House then found a rattle which he proceeded to shake, rattle and roll using various tubs, bottles and jars on the chest of drawers. "Hey, it's never too early for the kid to be introduced to music," he said as Cuddy, scowling, snatched it from him. Deprived of distractions he headed towards the kitchen yelling "Where's the cookies? Wilson promised there'd be cookies".

* * *

Pondering the visit afterwards, Cuddy thought he had been watchful. She could feel him watching her when she wasn't looking. She only caught him doing it once to which he'd made some flippant remark about her ass and would she turn back round as the interesting bits at the front were covered. She'd puzzled over it. He must have had a reason; he just didn't do things like that without a reason. She hoped but couldn't believe he'd come to be sociable, yet he had had no obvious agenda… which was worrying. He must have had a bet with Wilson was her conclusion. It seemed the only explanation.

* * *

"Why haven't you been over to see her before?" Wilson asked House as they drove back.

"Woman, new baby equals boring," he responded, swallowing a Vicodin tablet.

"Come on, House, you've been pining for her all week."

"Have not!"

"Have too! And you've been in more pain this week."

"Have not!"

"Have too! That's the third time I've seen you take a pill this morning."

"Think my 'addiction's out of control again?" House snarled back.

"No," said Wilson, unfazed, "I think you don't like the fact that Cuddy's focus is no longer on you. You were fine before when you were pursuing her and got her attention. Now…"

"I'm having a few bad days from the 'physical' pain – it happens. It is not some emotional response. I thought that Cuddy should have some time and space with the poop generator. I would have thought that would have counted as reasonable behaviour."

"A few bad days… what a coincidence and I think she'd appreciate more active support."

"She wanted to be a single Mom, she gets all the crap that goes with that. You're not going to catch me taking her trash out."

"Hey, I was just being helpful and it would help you if you were helpful," Wilson suggested

"What?" House's head snapped round from staring out of the window.

"If you went to help you'd get some of her attention, and if you 'did' help she'd have more time for you," said Wilson.

"Cripple, don't do chores, don't do helpful and if she had more time she'd spend it with the rugrat."

"Suit yourself, it's your pity party."

House said nothing but glared at him and then turned his head to glare out of the window.


	3. Silent Vice

Chapter 3

As far as I'm concerned, I prefer silent vice to ostentatious virtue. – Albert Einstein

* * *

.

Cuddy phoned him when she found it. She might not have seen it hidden amongst the other soft toys, except for it being brightly coloured.

"Thank you for the clown, House."

"I have no idea what you are talking about," he replied.

"Don't play dumb. I know it was you."

"I might have known a neat freak like you would notice."

"The house is in disarray. I put something down then I can't find it again. Things just blend into the background. I've got paper work sporting stains other than coffee…"

"Ah, the realities of spawn care. If you'd only had a bit more warning, I could have come to stay for a couple of weeks and softened you up," he smirked.

"Please tell me that this clown will not explode splattering some coloured dye every where?" she asked, only half jokingly.

"You wound me, Cuddy, as if I'd play such a childish prank having noticed your freshly painted nursery."

.

She felt a little paranoid when she inspected it more closely later. In fact, it was a good baby toy -- small, soft, colourful, big embroidered eyes, all fabric with nothing that could be pulled off, and, most importantly, it went in the washing machine. If it had been anybody other than House she might have thought he'd put some thought into it, but knowing House, he'd have just picked up the first thing he'd seen in the shop that he'd thought would clash with her colour scheme. Scratch that, the first thing he saw in the shop. Or, he sent Kutner for it – even more likely.

* * *

.

House knew something about Cuddy was off. He was fairly certain he knew what it was. However, he needed to observe her without her knowing. A case of observed objects, quantum mechanics and Schrodinger's cat – whatever, he needed to watch, which was why he was peering through her windows after dark. He watched her feeding, burping and changing the baby. Watched her put the baby down to sleep, then start pottering about tidying up before she noticed the state of her shirt. She sighed and turned out of the nursery pulling her top off over her head. House did a limpy scamper to her bedroom window. He'd already seen what he needed to see, he was just hoping for an added bonus. She was walking into the bathroom and for a moment he thought he might be out of luck. He heard the shower go on, then she walked back into the bedroom, sans top. House bit his lip and tried not to move. She rummaged about in her drawers, him willing her to turn round, she did and placed some items on the end of the bed. She started unbuttoning her jeans but was walking back to the bathroom. She stopped just inside the doorway and pushed her jeans down. House craned his neck sideways trying to keep her in view, he could see an arm and part of her hip. He hooked his cane on the end of the window ledge so he could lean further over. Her jeans were off and she was just undoing her bra, he licked his lips, he was oblivious to his surroundings entirely focused on the small gap where he could see Cuddy skin, lots and lots of Cuddy skin. The straps of her bra slid forward and his cane slipped off the ledge, House lost his balance and fell over into the flower bed.


	4. Wit is educated insolence

Chapter 4.

Wit is educated insolence - Aristotle

* * *

The following morning House walked into the hospital, his limp more pronounced than usual. He was also more late than usual. Not a point to endear him to a chief administrator who was feeling more harassed than usual and had hoped for his… co-operation with her newly acquired responsibilities.

As he walked in she tried to get his attention but he ignored her heading for the elevator. Unfortunately, he couldn't out run her, even in her heels.

"You're late for clinic," she hissed.

"Just going to drop my stuff of upstairs, then I'll be with you."

"I don't think so," she countered. He yelped as he felt a sharp pain in his left earlobe and his head tilted sideways as she pinched his ear and dragged him to the clinic, passing several bemused observers, and into an exam room.

It could have been an explosive encounter. She with a full steam of irritation coupled with the frustration of having to have this confrontation with him, again. He with a painful leg further aggravated by being yanked across the clinic, an act that had stoked his temper with feelings of humiliation. Except, as she whirled to face him, he was leaning against the wall, grimacing as he held his leg. As he rarely displayed such pain so openly it momentarily diverted her anger.

She wasn't stupid enough to just ask him the straight 'What's wrong with your leg' question knowing full well he'd give a snide remark instead of taking the question in the spirit of concern it would have been asked. Actually, it probably didn't matter how she phrased it, House would manage to give a sarcastic twist to his response. "Are you having more pain with your leg?"

"No, I always need the support of a wall when I'm in your presence." He rubbed his leg a moment more before searching for his pills. "I was fine until you dragged me through the clinic," he snapped.

"No you weren't. You were favouring it more when you came in," she replied, evenly.

"So you thought walking me at speed at an awkward angle would be good physical therapy?" he retorted, hobbling to the chair and sitting down.

She put her hands on her hips and stared at him. He glanced up at her and then away. The silence stretched. "If you must know I fell over yesterday. Happy now? Can we move on?" he grumped.

"Fine. Obviously, you shouldn't be walking on it too much, so you won't have a problem staying in the vicinity of the clinic and doing the correct number of hours today."

"Have you been at the gripe water?"

She walked towards him getting into his personal space. "House, I don't have time to be chasing you all over the hospital…"

"Then don't. Then we'll both be happy."

"Only if you do your clinic hours…"

"Then I won't be happy."

"House," she sighed in exasperation, "couldn't you, for once, just be… reasonable?"

"I'm just being me, Cuddy. Were you expecting some miraculous transformation to go with your Christmas miracle?"

"Why do you do this?"

"Why wouldn't I do this?" he countered.

"Oh, I don't know, so I can spend more time doing my job, so I can maybe finish on time and get home to my daughter."

"Man management is part of your job, and your personal life shouldn't be affecting how you do your job."

"I was hoping you'd be happy for me."

"I am happy for you, but it doesn't make anything any different for me. I shall come into work and do my job as I have always done it and I expect you to do the same."

"Fine. Stupid of me to think you might have been supportive!"

"Supportive? Well, if you've got a problem with your bra and are looking for support in that area," he gestured cupping breasts with his hands, "I'm your man," he leered.

"Supportive, as in not make my job any more difficult than it needs to be," she persisted.

"If you want supportive try Wilson. He likes needy and he's recently acquired a liking for aggressive, controlling women. You should match his ideal partner criteria now! He's real helpful around the house, cooks, cleans, does the caring bit – plus he's had some really good performance reviews."

She sighed and tried to keep to the point while being intrigued by the performance reviews comment. "I just want you to do your job."

"Are we doing this loop again? And I just want you to do yours – looks like we both want the same thing, so what's the problem?"

She turned in defeat "I don't know why I bother. I haven't got time for your games."

He hated seeing her in defeat, as opposed to the resigned agreement look when she'd finally cave to one of his insane ideas, it brought out the pair of imps on his shoulder, one with Stacy's voice saying "you owe her, give her some slack" and one Wilson's voice saying 'take it easy on her, you owe her". He wanted the defiant, confrontational, chest heaving in indignation, focused on him Cuddy – then he didn't have to think about what he owed her. Seeing her shoulders slumped in defeat poked his conscience. He didn't like having his conscience poked, it made him defensive, made him think that there was the possibility he might not be right. If she'd actually said she was calling in a favour he might have felt more comfortable about it, but she was appealing to his better self… and he didn't like doing anything that might indicate to her that he had a better self. She already understood him far more than he liked. He preferred to keep her off-balance… well, that was still possible.

"Cuddy," he called out, just as she was opening the door. She paused debating whether to just ignore him. "One week," he continued. She turned with a puzzled frown. "I'll withstand excruciating boredom for one week. In return…"

She came back into the room. "You can't negotiate clinic hours for clinic hours!"

"Did I mention clinic hours?"

"What do you want then?" Her hand went to her hip. House put his cane in front of him, grasping it with both hands and appearing thoughtful.

"Is this a personal favour or a work favour, only there seems to be a blurring of the lines…?"

"Is there a difference?" she asked, wondering where he was going with this.

"No, of course not, I just asked to lengthen the conversation to keep you here, being a masochist at heart!" he snarked back.

"I guess… it would be a personal favour." His face stayed straight but she could see the gleam in his eye. Whatever he was thinking had momentarily diverted his mind from his pain. He leaned forward slightly.

"So, I have this image of you doing a lap dance…" She pulled the door open with a huff of displeasure.

"Dinner." She stilled again.

"What?"

"Dinner. You. Friday. Slaving over a hot stove for me. I eat, make fun of your culinary skills, then leave you with all the dishes. Final offer, take it or leave it."

A suspicious, calculating look appeared on her face. He was enjoying this, there was now a small smirk to his mouth. She weighed up the pros and cons –whether he had another agenda, time it would take to prepare a meal against time spent chasing House. At least cooking a meal she'd be at home, he'd probably just come in, scoff and be gone, half an hour tops. He seemed to be letting her off easy. "Okay," she said cautiously, wondering what she'd missed.

"Right, you beetle off then so I can get on, can't expect me to do my job if you keep interrupting me." He waved his hand in a shooing manner. With one last suspicious look she turned to leave. She was half way through the door when he yelled.

"I'll expect you bare foot and bare breasted when serving me." She just shook her head in resignation and walked on.


	5. The Perils of Boredom

Part 5a.

Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and I'm not sure about the former – Albert Einstein

* * *

His week was nearly up. He had three hours left and then it was back to normal. Mid week he'd been so bored he'd nearly skived off, he could almost feel his guts cramping in sympathy. There'd been a fleeting hope his small intestine would leap up through his stomach into his oesophagus and choke him to death. However, the guy with infected piercings had shone a light of stupidity into the afternoon which had encouraged him to continue. He'd had great joy in explaining the necessity of testes in the copulation process. So important in those teenage years and beyond, don't you think? Who the hell gets a piercing in their scrotum anyway? Perhaps he shouldn't have referred him and just let his gonads fester and drop off – the gene pool would have been so much better off. Who was it said 'never underestimate the power of human stupidity'…? Scott Adams? No, his was something about the general public... 'never underestimate the stupidity of the general public', the other one must be the sci fi writer… Heinlein, that was the guy. It was so true.

So, final morning with his wings clipped. He put on his most appealing face to the nurse. "Any chance of an interesting clinic patient this morning?" She shook her head, with almost a look of sympathy. "Nothing down the queue that isn't a cold, crotch rot or haemorrhoids?"

"Sorry," she said, handing him the file of the first patient. He hunched his shoulders, put on a grumpy face and dragged his feet to exam room one. The nurse caught herself smiling at his antics, then quickly stifled it looking around in case any one had seen her who might rib her about how her dementia was progressing.

He'd done the first hour, the highlight of which had been the pregnant teenager – not that that was particular unusual. She disclaimed any possibility of being pregnant – also not unusual. It was the 'excuse' that made him laugh, not that it should have done, but sometimes you just had to find fun in the absurd. Her boyfriend had told her she couldn't get pregnant if they didn't come together. There were so many ribald responses to that that his lips locked with the confusion, and he was momentarily speechless. He'd explained that if that were true the world population would be a hundredth of its current size (maybe less), good for the environment possibly, but not for the perpetuation of the species. If only that were true, just think how many anxious days of waiting for the next menses fairy would be lost!

So, an hour down, just two more gruelling, mind numbing, neuron paralysing hours to do when the Cuddy spy, dressed as a nurse, did something unusual. As he was reaching for the next case file, she interrupted him. "No, take this one."

Slightly puzzled, he looked at the file, noted the time and gave the nurse an enquiring look. "You're allowing a queue jumper for…" he perused the file a bit further, "a woman fainting while drinking soda?"

"She's got a long, persistent history, I thought you might be able to help," she shrugged. He stared at her then back at the file then back at her. Just as she thought she'd somehow embarrassed herself and was reaching to take the file from him, he turned, called the patient's name and headed towards the exam room. There were several filthy looks and some murmurs of protest as a woman, somewhat startled to be called so soon, scrambled up and hurried after him.

House's eyes brightened when he realised the woman was pretty, underweight (he preferred a few more curves) but definitely pretty. He sat down prepared to take a bit longer enquiring into her symptoms than he needed. He established that she'd had these fainting spells for ten years, been to various doctors and specialists, had a plethora of tests but still no firm diagnosis. She'd given up hoping for a cure and was just trying to live with it. She'd only come into the clinic now for some anti-nausea pills. In fact, she was so fed up of feeling like a lab rat that House had to exert himself to convince her to under go more tests while appealing to her sense of altruism to allow him to use her as a test case for his fellows.

He was just heading out of the clinic, saying "this one's to go," waving the file at the nurse as he went and "I'll be back!" in his best Arnie voice when a man called his name. Inwardly cringing, he turned to see it was a man in a lab coat which allowed him to relax – he'd probably pissed the young doctor off but at least he wasn't pointing a gun -- someone shouting House could deal with. He didn't recognise the guy but he could piss people off without knowing them -- he was that good. In fact, as the man approached him House saw that he was nervous not angry – interesting.

"Dr. House, I was err wondering… ummm if you'd… err…"

"Spit it out, for God's sake, I haven't got all day!" said House, helpfully.

Naturally, that had the desired effect. "I… I… I…"

House sighed dramatically and turned to go.

"Ineedtoswapsomeclinichours…" the man blurted out. House turned back intrigued. "For this afternoon…?" the man added hopefully.

"And you're asking me because everyone else has turned you down?" hazarded House. He noted that staff in the area were trying to earwig into the conversation while trying not to be seen doing so. He also noted a group of young doctors surreptitiously gathered in the reception area occasionally glancing in his direction. Taking bets he suspected.

The man nodded, unhappily. "You've been warned about me?" House continued.

The man nodded again, "But I assumed they were exaggerating…"

House smiled evilly, "Oh, I shouldn't think so. You should know better than to assume anything." The man's shoulders slumped.

"Why?" asked House.

"Why?" parroted the man, confused.

House rolled his eyes. "Why do you need a swap so badly that you would ask me?"

"Oh, my wife's pregnant. Her appointment got moved and she wanted me to be there…"

"So, you don't want to be there?"

"What? Yes, I want to be there!"

"But do you want to be there because your wife said 'be there or it will be the worse for you' or do you want to be there for you?"

The man was like a scared rabbit. He wondered what the correct response was, what answer House wanted or if it made no difference as House was just playing with him. He went with the truth.

"I want to be there… for me. I want to see, I need to see. It'll make it more real somehow. I'll feel more… involved… **and** my wife won't be upset with me…"

"Hormonal women, thoroughly irrational. Whatever you do, you'll be wrong." House contemplated him for a few more seconds, long enough for the other man to become uncomfortable under his gaze. The last thing House wanted to do was have clinic hours dragging on into Friday afternoon, especially as it meant he'd have another hour to do. And the last thing he ever did was do anyone a favour unless he owed them. So why was he hesitating? Well, it could play to his advantage and he could always hope for a plague of locusts to shut the clinic down this afternoon.

"You finish my clinic hours now, and you do three of my days next week." To House's surprise the man relaxed in relief, smiled, thanked him and reached for the next patient file.

"Did you have a big bet on yourself?" House asked.

"What?" asked the man, turning back to him. House nodded in the direction of the gaggle of doctors.

"They've been betting on the outcome of this conversation." The man looked totally astounded.

"That's unfortunate," said House, "you'd have got good odds. Next time clue me in, we'll split the proceeds." He turned back to the nurse.

"Cuddy spy," he said getting her attention, "apparently, I wont be back until this afternoon – thought I'd tell you that for your report to the she-devil."


	6. Pesky Little Facts

Part 5b

Sometimes I'm a little bit naughty.

* * *

.

"Is Dr House here?" Dr Cuddy asked the nurse.

"No, he…." Was as far as the nurse got in reply before Cuddy turned on her heel heading towards the elevators.

The nurse called out to her but Cuddy was on a seek and destroy mission and consequently deaf to polite interceptions.

It was a shame that the dampers on the glass doors meant they couldn't be kicked open with a satisfying crash, it so spoiled a dramatic entrance, House thought, as Cuddy came storming into his team office. One look at her face and he knew she was teetering on the edge of a pyroclastic eruption – one of his favourite looks. As he was fairly certain he hadn't knowingly done anything to promote this state he finished up his differential sending the fellows to their various tasks, which they did with surprising alacrity he noticed – the wimps. However, as she didn't stop any of them it obviously wasn't one of them she was after – him then, interesting.

"Why aren't you in the clinic?" she said, in a dangerously controlled voice.

Ohh, she didn't know. This was going to be good, he thought. His lips twitched as he tried not to smile. He kept his head down as he finished writing on a piece of paper, folded it then turned to clip it to the white board.

"I went, I diagnosed, I got a case, I .."

"You got a case? From the clinic?"

"Yes. Actually, Nurse House Watch down there spotted it so gold star for her in her review. Do you want a bet on which of the team gets the correct diagnosis… well, closest to the correct diagnosis?"

"You're not playing games with patient care again after what happened last time!"

"Yes, I'm not playing games – it's more of a training exercise," he hedged. She looked sceptical.

"Training exercise? House…"

"There's no danger to the patient… provided Kutner doesn't try to whip her spleen out, but I did tell her not to agree to any invasive tests and to spurn all offers of medication."

"Is this a real case?"

"Sure, see for your self," he said tossing her the folder. "Twenty five year old female, experiencing episodes of feeling suddenly and alarmingly light-headed, nauseous. Collapsed on more than one occasion. Can happen several times a week and has been occurring for the last ten years. Patients pulse rate and blood pressure are normal and she doesn't smoke, drink - alcohol that is, and has never used illicit drugs."

"Everybody lies?"

"Even if she is, about that, it's not actually relevant to her diagnosis. The episodes tend to occur when she eats certain types of food, particularly burgers and soda. Last time she collapsed she was driving while eating a sandwich. Fortunately, she was in stationary traffic at the time…"

"Overeating, eating too fast…?" She just couldn't help herself, thought House. For one, she'd be trying to find a fault with his choice of case that some how he was shirking, and for two she was intrigued.

"You'd condemn her to a lifetime of healthy eating? She's five foot six but only weighs 98 pounds."

"Anorexia?"

"No signs. She's seen 'dozens' of specialists and the best they can come up with is epilepsy."

"I see your interest now, you don't think it's epilepsy?"

"No." He wasn't just going to volunteer the information, that would spoil all his fun… and hers.

"But you think she can be treated?"

"Yes."

"For what?"

"Oh nooooooo! You can't get it out of me that easily. Besides the walls have ears and I don't want the others getting wind of the test I'm going to do."

"You're going to do a test?" she asked, sceptically.

"Sure, we don't want to cut her open unnecessarily, now do we?" He added a scandalized look for good measure.

"Not often I find myself agreeing with you…"

"So, want to bet? I've given them one test each. I've gone for Foreman thinking pituitary gland, Thirteen thinking thyroid disorder, Taub will assume lying, therefore anorexia so will do a psyche evaluation while Kutner will assume lying, so will do a tox screen."

"And you will be doing?"

"Ah, ah, ahhh," he wagged his finger at her, "not going to catch me like that -- although I suppose I should write it down…" he reached for the sheet of paper he'd clipped to the white board. "Don't want the team thinking I only had my idea after they'd done all their tests," he said, with a certain knowing gleam in his eye. "Should have an answer by late this afternoon. We'll discuss it over dinner tonight." He bated her – not that you could tell from his outward appearance, but mentally he stepped back to observe the… hmmm, now he'd have to go with the slow burn, like pahoehoe lava flow in Hawaii, rather than the full volcanic eruption.

"What dinner?" she said, eyes like gimlets focused on House. He looked surprised.

"Your not reneging are you?"

"You have not upheld your side of the bargain," she said, in a clipped voice.

"What makes you say that?" he goaded.

"Oh, I don't know… maybe because you're here instead of in the clinic where you're supposed to be at the moment." Yes! There was the chest heave, his cup runneth over, shame her cups didn't at the same time.

"I was there earlier…"

"You're not there now – you're short two hours…" she spoke over him, thereby missing part of his continuing sentence – until her brain caught up.

"…then I swapped, so I'll be back in clinic this afternoon effectively doing another hour today than scheduled…" he continued, calmly.

"What?" she chimed in.

"So I expect something not on the menu as my reward for being… co-operative, I think that's the word." He smiled sweetly at her.

"You swapped? House, that's about as likely as you… doing the hours in the first place," she said, with a certain amount of incredulity in her voice.

"What! After you asked so nicely. I'm wounded." He clutched his chest over his heart.

"Who did you swap with?" she asked, hoping to catch him in a lie.

"I don't know… some dweeb heading towards Couvade Syndrome at lightening speed... but he did ask nicely, too."

She considered that for a moment. "Dr. Bone?"

"You're kidding me… is that really his name?" House put on his astounded face.

"You asked him…?" she ventured.

"No, he asked me." She looked… bemused.

"He was desperate. I made a good deal out of it… actually, I could have probably got more… Wasn't he there when you went into the clinic?" he asked, innocently. "The little shirker. Well, you can't blame me for that. Wait! You're not going to say I broke the deal because someone else didn't uphold their end of the bargain?"

"I… er… didn't see him, but it's your responsibility to ensure that he covered your hours." She'd started to feel uncomfortable about this. House was looking way too confident, and good as he was at trying to bluff her, there were usually tell-tale signs…

He looked perplexed.

"That defeats the object doesn't it? If I have to sit there and make sure he does my hours, I wouldn't have time to sit there and do his hours, therefore no hours would get done… see where I'm going with this?" He was leaning back in his chair, twirling his cane, keeping his inner glee well hidden. "However, if it makes you happy, I'll go and look for him…" he made to get up out of his chair. Now he was looking smug. Now she had a very bad feeling about this. Damn. Damn, damn, damn. She'd been too hasty, not got her facts straight. She'd never hear the last of it. She spun on her heel and strode purposefully out of the office. Of course, he got the parting shot.

"Around seven then?" he called after her. She could hear the laughter in his voice, not that he was laughing out loud, he rarely did, it just sort of filled her head.


	7. Filling a need

.

Happiness is not a goal; it is a by-product. -Eleanor Roosevelt

* * *

.

"So, dinner at Cuddy's tonight?" asked Wilson, as they queued for lunch. "I can't believe you actually managed a whole week of clinic without slinking off once."

"I don't slink. I dodge, weave, lie, obfuscate, inveigle, put down smoke screens, and, on occasion, resort to stealth – I do not slink. And, technically, I still have to get through this afternoon." House shook his head. "I can't believe I agreed to a swap – I'd be home and free now."

"So why did you swap?"

"I thought he was having a bet – I was going to demand half the winnings."

"So why didn't you just take it back when you knew he wasn't?"

"Ahh, Cuddy spy. Good catch this morning, Wilson will buy you lunch." House put his food on Wilson's tray, sailed passed the till and went to sit down at a table, leaving Wilson to exert his social prowess to graciously endorse House's offer and pay for all three lunches.

"I would say that was nice of you…" House looked aghast. "But, I'm too stunned from the fact you actually had such a thought. I might think the world had turned on its axis, if I didn't also think you did that to avoid the question," said Wilson, as he sat down giving House his sandwich.

"Do us all a favour and stop thinking." House bit into his sandwich.

"Just like I might think the world has turned on its axis because you manipulated Cuddy into inviting you to dinner."

"She wanted me to," House said, casually dismissive.

"What? How did she… ? I guess that explains why it's not your usual gate-crashing MO."

"She needs me." House pointed his sandwich at Wilson as he spoke.

"For what? Has your relationship…?"

House sighed. "There is no relationship, get that mushiness out of your mind. She needs me to do what she…" He waved his hand about. "… always needs me to do." House looked slightly sad, but recovered quickly. "Naturally, I aim to please when it comes to Cuddy's needs."

Wilson went back to his lunch. There was no point pressing House at the moment, all that would serve to do was annoy House, who'd deflect and then embarrass him. "So, we still on for tomorrow?"


	8. Danger, man thinking

.

Let me have men about me that are fat,

Sleek-headed men and such as sleep a-nights.

Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look,

He thinks too much; such men are dangerous. – William Shakespeare

* * *

.

Cuddy was running late and it was all that bastard's fault. She'd never expected him to do his clinic hours – but he had! And the smug look on his face…! She slammed the pan down on the kitchen counter. That meant she hadn't got any food in, well, not for a dinner. She'd toyed with the idea of just giving him a cheese sandwich and sending him home, but that wasn't in the spirit of the game. House would accept it, with some smart remark, he'd go home but then he would withdraw, and if he withdrew, he wouldn't play the game, or he'd do something outrageous… and right now she needed him to be… co-operative. If he abandoned the game she knew he would eventually come back to play, he was either incredibly thick-skinned or incredibly forgiving, she wondered briefly if he could be both. She also knew that something in their game was off but she didn't have time to think about that when she was trying to adjust to having Rachel. The doorbell rang. Just to add insult to injury, House was on time.

House was leaning against the kitchen work surface watching her prepare the dinner. She'd hoped he'd sit in front of the television with a drink and had been surprised when he said he'd be 'sociable' and join her in the kitchen. Feeling slightly frazzled round the edges, the last thing she needed was to be the focus of House's attention when she wasn't completely in control of the situation. She'd deliberately arranged it so she had her back to him. She knew he'd be staring at her ass but if he was concentrating on that he might not notice other things. No such luck…

"Those look suspiciously like vegetables you're slicing and dicing there. I hope you're not going to feed me any healthy crap."

"Why? Do you think it might poison you?"

"I'll take my chances. I've built up a natural immunity after receiving frequent small doses of venom from you over the years. You'll have to work on that Medusa glance to get me now – the vegetables, on the other hand, have obviously irritated you to the point of viciousness." She stopped chopping, suddenly aware of her actions. "So, I can either tell you about my day as a diversionary tactic or you can tell me about your day, get it all off your chest… speaking of which, there was the mention of bare breasted…" There was a momentary confusion on her face until he got to the last part, then she smiled wryly, shaking her head slightly.

"Mentioned but not part of the deal – just for a moment there I thought you might have been suffering from some sort of head trauma. Did you hit your head the other day when you fell over?"

"That's mean," he snarked back. "I know I'm rusty in couples' speak, but I'm fairly sure that's how it normally plays out." She laughed.

"Well, we are not a couple and you don't do normal." He looked thoughtful.

"True and not necessarily true." She snorted in derision.

"You don't think I'm normal?" She gave him a get real look over her shoulder. "Hmmm, I'm a man born of woman, my bodily functions are normal, I eat, sleep, talk, walk albeit with a limp, watch soaps – well millions do that so that can't be abnormal. I even comply with social mores…" Another snort from Cuddy. "What? I shower, wear clothes… not everybody's view of high fashion I'll grant you but functional, never the less."

"Okay. Okay, but on the bell curve of normal you're definitely at the dysfunctional end."

"Dysfunctional?" She nodded her head, but then turned to watch him intrigued to know what he would come up with now. He was twirling his cane in thought, but otherwise he was relaxed.

"I function just fine, weren't you listening just now? Plus I have a job, an apartment, car, bike, list of take-away menus…" She smiled.

"Alright, maybe a bad choice of word, perhaps I should have said unconventional or unorthodox, anarchic… insane." She saw his lips twitch in a smile and she turned back to the vegetables.

"Insane? I guess that brings us back to you poisoning me with your cooking… that's if you don't stab me with the knife you are currently slaughtering those tomatoes with. They look so innocent; whatever did they do to you? Isn't simple maceration good enough?"

"I didn't know your expertise ran to food preparation."

"I've got a lot of expertises you don't know about." She was startled. Unbeknownst to her House had moved up behind her, so when he spoke, his voice soft, his proximity caught her off-guard. She spun round knife in hand, to come face to chest with House. He glanced at the knife which had missed him by inches, but he just looked amused. "Now I might have been worried, but my conscience is clear… this week anyway, but as I consider I've got dibs on pushing your buttons, I want to know who's been encroaching on my turf." He was giving her that intense stare that could be so unnerving, especially when you knew he was looking for some sign, some clue. She was flustered.

"No one. Nothing. It's none of your business." Now she was annoyed with herself, she never let him get to her. It was with relief she heard Rachel on the baby monitor beginning to wake. She glanced at the monitor as a way of breaking his gaze although she sensed he was still scrutinizing her. "I need to get Rachel…" she tried to move passed him.

"Saved by the wail. No, I'll get orphan Annie, you stay chained to that stove before I die of hunger." And off he limped. She stared after him torn between killing him and… and… and not killing him… but maybe doing him a serious injury. She flung the onions in the pan and began frying them within an inch of their life, viciously poking them with a spatula. When House reappeared with Rachel she lowered the heat and started making the formula.

"Hey, you've escaped from the stove!" He sat down still holding Rachel who seemed surprisingly unperturbed by House's handling. "I hope you're not going to feed the parasite before me – I was here first!" She gave him an exasperated look. "Her name is Rachel and are you really sure you want her crying at full decibels? Not that you are going to get a choice, she's getting fed first." House looked back at the baby.

"Either your Mommy's getting really mean in her old age or she's just trying to keep me here longer because she's got the hots for me." He paused for a moment. "Or it could be both."

Cuddy held the bottle of formula up.

"Do you want to feed Rachel, finish cooking the dinner, or wait until I've done both… because you want to be here?" she asked, sweetly. He grimaced, then held his hand out.

"Give me the bottle. There's women's mud wrestling on later so I do not want to be here longer than necessary and you certainly don't want my culinary skills. What are you cooking anyway?"

"Vegetable lasagne." She handed him the bottle.

"What? No meat? No high fat content? How's a man to survive without lashings of oil soaked, grease covered, calorie loaded, cholesterol laden, artery clogging, stroke inducing, heart hugging triglycerides?"

"The agreement was for dinner, there was no specification as to what it might consist of. If you don't want it… feel free to leave." He huffed.

"There's no need to hover. I know which end is which and which orifice to poke the bottle in. Cook woman!"


	9. To Bond or not to Bond

Intellectuals solve problems, geniuses prevent them -- Albert Einstein

* * *

.

She went back to preparing the meal while giving sideways glances at House and was a little stunned when it was obvious that he did know what he was doing. Why should that surprise her when he had consistently dealt with children demonstrable better than adults? Maybe because he was not the nurturing kind, although he did sort of nurture his fellows – just in an… unconventional way. He interrupted her reverie.

"You know, you could cut out all this bottle preparation if you induced lactation?"

"What?" He smirked at her drop-jawed expression and took a perverse pleasure in her rather banal response.

"You're the endocrinologist -- you know you don't have to have been pregnant to lactate, the hormones which govern lactation, are pituitary, not ovarian. Both prolactin, the milk-making hormone, and oxytocin, the milk-releasing hormone, are produced in response to nipple stimulation. You'd have to stop the birth control pills because they're a lactation suppressant and you could have additional hormone therapy but it is possible to induce lactation with only mechanical stimulation -- breast massage, nipple manipulation, sucking… I'd be willing to lend a hand…well, a mouth…"

"Or I could just have Rachel nurse or use a hospital grade breast pump!" she retorted.

"Where's the fun in that? Plus, there'd be the added advantage of oxytocin, the bonding hormone…"

"I know what it is, House. My hormone levels are just fine as they are." She slammed the lasagne into the oven with a note of finality.

Surprisingly, House seemed to take the hint and let the conversation drop – not without a smirk, though. She took Rachel from him to finish feeding her. Of course, the smirk could mean many things. Him trying to discompose her with images of him sucking her nipples – her mind glossed over that, her instinctive reaction to shut him down without engaging him… … damn. This was House, he'd started this conversation for a reason and he was probably using the 'evidence' he'd gathered from her response in a variety of scenarios. Double damn, she'd reacted as House had expected when curiosity would perhaps have been a better response. She didn't like the fact that House could predict her… well, in some things it was unavoidable and a good thing but as a general rule, she'd like to keep him on his toes. She pondered that thought for a moment, too. Why _did_ she want to keep him on his toes, drawing attention to herself. She'd think about that later and… there it was, House was indicating something she should think about and had approached it in his own Housian way. He'd come back to this conversation.

"If you say so. So, you want a guess as to what my patient has?"

"Did your team guess correctly?"

"No. Foreman got closest after I did the ECG."

"Surely a heart problem would have been picked up before if she was reporting syncope?"

"The first ECG was clean?"

"How many did you do?"

"Just two," he said nonchalantly. She wasn't fooled.

"What did you do differently on the second one?"

"Getting warmer," he said, lips twitching in a small smile. She considered their earlier conversation.

"You gave her a burger?"

"Close, coke."

"The fizzy drink variety I trust?" she asked, with only a little doubt at the back of her mind.

"Of course, it's cheaper." She looked at him. "I was saving Kutner some money."

"I take it there was heart arrhythmia?" He gave her an encouraging look, more than arrhythmia then. "Her heart stopped?"

"2.5 seconds," he confirmed, "complete block of the electrical impulse that regulates heartbeat."

"Swallow syncope?" she guessed, with surprised intrigue. He nodded his head.

"Swallowing causing the abnormal feedback to the heart. Gas bubbles in fizzy drinks, sandwiches because the bread can clump."

"Wow, I've never seen it before. Aren't there other symptoms?"

"I've seen it once about twenty years ago. It got a write up in the Lancet fifty years ago -- it can be associated with oesophageal or gastric disorders, or sometimes with heart and lung disorders, but this patient had no such problems. She's scheduled for a pace maker next week."

"It'll transform her life," she said, pleased.

"She won't like it when she starts gaining weight though – you women are never happy. Me on the other hand, I'm starving to death here." She smirked, there he went the implied compliment.

"Another fifteen minutes. Go watch the television if you want."

"Nope, happy with the visuals here."

She looked at him curiously for a moment, before giving her attention back to Rachel. There was something strangely unnerving in House's… gaze, it was definitely a gaze, an intense blue-eyed gaze. Of all the leers, stares, innuendos and sexual comments this… gaze was the closest he'd ever come to making her blush… apart from the thong thing. It was making her feel like a gawky teenager – she didn't do gawky. Perhaps that look, that softening around the eyes was for Rachel. House was at his most human when he was around children, once they were born anyway, probably because they were kindred spirits.

Meanwhile, the silence was drawing out, and she with all her social graces, diplomatic donor skills and hospital function suavity was completely without a conversational gambit – gawky indeed. Still it was House, he was here on sufferance, she could pretend it was deliberate. If he wanted conversation he could start it.

And he did. On a broad range of subjects from baseball to Yamahas, he conversed easily, interestingly and, of course, provocatively. He made her smile; there was the occasional smirk from him. Dinner passed… unawkwardly, with only a little teasing about the cruelty to vegetables being torn out by their roots and having their heads chopped off. The mood continued as they sat and finished the bottle of wine and progressed to coffee but then House began to fidget. Cuddy realised it was more noticeable because he hadn't done it all night, apart from the odd twirling of the cane in the kitchen while he was thinking, he hadn't played with the cutlery, or bounced his cane -- he'd been… still. Oh, he'd been animated while talking, his hands, even his face, mobile, emphasising his points but his usual distraction seeking behaviour... not there.

Not only that, she'd relaxed, in a way she didn't think was possible around House in this setting. This was a surprise… wasn't it? She'd told him before that he wasn't 'safe' and her reaction to him when they'd… you know… kissed, was proof of that. She'd negated that as her being emotional but those situations, albeit rare, were precisely why House wasn't safe. Give him an inch and he'd take a mile… although he hadn't… whatever, his subsequent actions had crystallised her opinion of him as an unemotional, immature, manipulative, untrustworthy, anarchic, egomaniacal misanthrope. So with that settled, she could now relax around him in a casual setting – it was simple really.

Not that she had totally unwound, it was just that the tension she was feeling couldn't be put down to House's presence – well, not all of it. Now here he was tapping his cane, which had been leaning against the couch for the last half hour seemingly forgotten, against his foot, which was propped up on her coffee table, an action she had only frowned at slightly assuming his leg was more comfortable in that position. He kept glancing at her, gauging something. It was making her nervous. If he wanted to go he was more than capable of just getting up and going with a careless 'Good night' if she was lucky. In fact, she wasn't quite sure why he was still here.

"You've eaten me out of house and home, I'm not feeding you any thing else," she said. She saw a sly smirk appear on his face.

"But you haven't eaten Ho..." he stopped when she gave him the death glare. Tempting though it was to make the play on his name he changed tack.

"What no hidden stash of chocolate ice cream?" She shook her head. "No rocky road, chunky monkey or frozen yoghurt?" Again she shook her head. "No comfort food, it's no wonder you're… tense."

"I don't…"

"When was the last time you went for a run?"he asked, as a somewhat non sequitur.

"Before I got Rachel, I've hardly had the opportunity since," she answered, somewhat cagily. "You should make time. You know that suddenly stopping exercise like that is bad for you, especially with a stressful job coupled with a stressful situation." "Rachel isn't a stressful situation." "Right." He said, with more than a hint of sarcasm. "She's not!" "Like you've really taken to this motherhood thing like a duck to water." "What?" The dumb response twice in one night, he thought, that could be a record. "You're worried that it's been a mistake, that you're not bonding." Talk about a deer caught in headlights that was Cuddy now "Obviously, you've got a returns option on this one, so you could go that route." He paused, watching her response carefully. "Or you could remember that not even birth mothers always bond instantly with their offspring. I bet you've bought every baby bonding book available and read it from cover to cover at least twice. What you're forgetting is that you don't learn to play football by reading the self-help books. You might scan through the books to get the basic concepts and rules but then you need to get out there with the ball, get the feel of it, toss it around, bounce it about, run with it, smell it, touch it, throw it, watch what other players do with it. Then you might go back to the books to hone your game taking into account your own foibles." "You're comparing Rachel to a football? I don't think she bounces!" He ignored the attempted deflection. "You've brought a baby into your perfect world. Your perfect, regulated, controlled world and she doesn't fit. You can't negotiate with her, tell her to hold the wail until you've finished your telephone call, she doesn't poop on demand or eat when convenient. She's got her own agenda."

"I know that, House, we've had this conversation…"

"But you don't feel it. You're holding back? Are you worried that the adoption might not go through?"

"Once bitten…"

"Stop it. Do what you always do – care."

"I do care! But she deserves to be loved and…" She paused, unable to articulate her fears.

"Stop second guessing yourself. You're not going to fail. You're going to make mistakes, but all parents do that. You're going to be a good mother. She's going to love you back --- well, until she's a teenager, then she's going to hate you."

She smiled despite herself. If there was one thing you could trust House to do, it was to open the can of worms, spread said worms out under the microscope and start identifying, dissecting and analysing them one squirming worm at a time. Regardless of how squeamish owner of said worms might be or how painful they might find the dissection. Slowly, relentlessly inspecting each worm, watching it wriggle and writhe, pointing out the flaws, any injuries, touching each and every sore point. God, she hated him. Then again she was incredible grateful that he could coldly and clinically analyse then articulate what he saw as the problem. He could be extremely blunt, never sugar coating his answer, which could be discomposing, to say the least, but he rarely said anything unless he thought he was right and, of course, he was rarely wrong. He didn't always hit the nail right on the head but he was so spookily close to the truth that you couldn't ignore it.

There was never any chance that he would tell you what he thought you wanted to hear -- unless it was him avoiding something… like clinic duty. The master of avoidance when it came to his own personal issues, you'd think he'd have more sympathy for other people's problems – but no. It was scary how good he was at analysing her. In the beginning, it must have taken quite a bit of effort on his part to gather so much information – impressive for someone who avoided work like it was the plague. She'd always assumed it was a case of know your enemy. Wait! He must have been spying on her again.

"House was it you who trampled my flower bed the other night? Was that where you fell over?" She saw the guilt flash in his eyes before he masked it and, caught completely off guard, he was too slow to issue a denial. There was no way he could construct a convincing lie so he'd have to go with the swift exit.

"Absolutely not. Oh, would you look at the time, I think I've overstayed your welcome. Time I wasn't here."

For someone who couldn't run, he had a surprising turn of speed, Cuddy thought, as she watched him scamper out to his bike. She was even amused at it, until later, when she remembered what she'd been doing that night and what he might have been looking at so intently that he'd have slipped. Then her face fell as she cursed him six ways from Sunday.


	10. Fast cars and faster women

.

It is difficult to know at what moment love begins; it is less difficult to know that it has begun -- Longfellow—_Kavanagh._ Ch. XXI.

* * *

.

He sat and thought and thought and sat. Something he'd been doing for days, weeks… months. Round and round in his head went the pros and cons. If he could have been bothered to list them side by side on a white board, the cons far outweighed the pros --- he was sure he was being objective. As it was, he had them in his head, it was safer that way – nobody could accidentally uncover the 'evidence'. So, by sheer numbers, there should have been no further thought needed on the matter. Unfortunately, there was that pesky little thing which he'd put in the cons column but which seemed to carry far more weight than its size would dictate and somehow the weight seemed to spin it over into the pros column.

It didn't help that he didn't understand it. Oh, he understood about brain chemistry, biological imperatives, pleasure and reward mechanisms, how feelings could be triggered – love, fear. He understood the sympathetic part of the autonomic nervous system that regulates unconscious functions – the automatic, involuntary response that bypasses the rational mind. Fear, the acute stress response, made sense -- a primitive survival mechanism triggering a bodily reaction otherwise known as the "fight or flight" response. A combination of neural, physiological and psychological processes rapidly preparing the body to fight or run with an almost instantaneous surge in heart rate, blood pressure, sweating, breathing, and metabolism, and a tensing of muscles. So, hear Cuddy roar his name, sympathetic nervous system kicks in using the subcortical pathway (eye to thalamus to amygdala), a fast-track route through the brain, resulting in a rapid physical response which has him running from danger. Only when the slower, conscious processes catch up are decisions made like 'is this a good direction to be running?'. His nervous system seemed to be perverse, hear Cuddy shriek his name and he headed towards danger like a moth to a flame, even when his thought processes caught up, he still thought it was a good direction to be headed. He didn't understand this either, he'd never been an extreme sports person, enjoyed sports, yes, but deliberately courted danger… okay, there was his bike and speed, but that was a general testosterone driven thing, not necessarily confined to males. That was the pleasure and reward mechanism, linked to all sorts of weird and wonderful human behaviour -- drugs, gambling, love.

Then there was his self destructive tendency but that wasn't usually driven by thrill seeking behaviour – unless you counted his power plays with Cuddy as thrill seeking – they certainly turned him on… seeing her angry, chest heaving, eyes flashing, focused on him to laser accuracy turned him on, matching wits with Cuddy turned him on. He'd deliberately provoke her just to get her attention. He sighed. When had it gone from hatred to lust? He'd obviously missed that point. Not that hatred and lust were mutually exclusive. She was smart, funny, zesty body… beautiful eyes… heart stopping smile -- a lot to lust over, no denying that – biological imperative, testosterone driven, at least he could understand that.

Actually, it had gone full circle and he hadn't missed the point where it had initially gone to hatred. She'd conspired to take his control, her and Stacy. Then she'd given him a job, a job he could enjoy, when no one else would have employed him. He should have felt gratitude, instead he was angry and bitter. He'd oscillated between avoidance as a means of provoking her and confrontation as a means of provoking her. He'd used his assets, his powers of observation, to improve his game against her. Paid attention to what she did, where she went, who she was with as a better means to manipulate her, to hone his negotiation skills with her. Then it finally penetrated his conscience that she felt guilty.

Guilty that he'd been misdiagnosed. Guilty that the operation on his leg was against his wishes and had left him in chronic pain. She had sympathised with Stacy and the need to keep him alive. They'd both expected him to be angry but then thought he'd get over it. Stacy always thought she'd done the right thing. Cuddy finally understood that it hadn't been the right thing for him and felt guilty for her betrayal. The thing was she had done the right thing in suggesting the alternative course of treatment. He wouldn't have accepted it, but the final decision had been Stacy's. Logically, he shouldn't have taken it out on Cuddy, practically, he was so angry at life, the universe and everything that he hit out at any one within striking distance. At some point, his rational mind had triumphed and he'd stopped hating her. He couldn't say he'd forgiven her – if she'd done what she thought was right there was nothing to forgive. He'd kept up the hostilities out of habit maybe, because she was his boss and there were bound to be points of disagreement, because they thrived on conflict, because he could hide behind it. All the above, but mostly it was about control. Sometimes he felt the need to take her control. He didn't like it when she had control, although rationally, he knew he needed her to stop him doing something insane. He liked challenging her, he liked that she fought back, sometimes he even liked that she won. He liked playing games with her, although to her they weren't games… occasionally, maybe.

So, he'd stopped hating her. This hadn't stopped him gathering information about her – not quite obsessively… well, perhaps not compulsively. But it was all part of the game, 'how to get one over on your boss'. She should have fired him years ago… she should never have hired him. If he didn't like it he should have walked out – but that would have been change… and not necessarily for the better.

He didn't want things to change but recent events had brought into sharp focus how fragile life was, how vulnerable his existence, how dependent he was on certain things being constant when the whimsy of fate could in fact whisk them away in an instant. He'd taken far too many things for granted, him being an arrogant, egomaniacal, control seeking narcissist. As much as he tried to avoid self-analysis and introspection, he was good at problems, and once he put his mind to something he did tend to stick with it. He'd accepted that a miserable life was better than no life. This wasn't a particularly big acceptance, he'd always been miserable. He'd had moments of happiness, of pleasure, some not of the sexual kind but happy and carefree? No. But life could be less miserable, less… lonely. He was a misanthrope but certain individuals made life more interesting and some more pleasurable. Some could even stand his shit. Some actually seemed to like him, despite himself, which brought him back to Cuddy.

Why Cuddy? Why not some hot, young chick? Not that Cuddy wasn't hot, she was just a different hot. For all her small stature she had presence, you noticed when she walked into a room. It was like the difference between a Ferrari and an Aston Martin, both supercars -- power, beauty, glamour, muscular, aggressive both highly desirable. Ferraris were flamboyant, in your face, high-tech, high maintenance, breathtaking handling, expensive, instantly recognisable speed machines. Aston Martins were just as awesome, in a different, understated way with James Bond cachet. If your eye was attuned to Aston Martin you could spot them in the crowd and make a beeline to go drool completely bypassing the Ferrari… not that the Ferrari didn't attract your attention if the Aston wasn't around, but given the option he wanted a ride in the Aston.

So… he had certain gaps in his life he wanted to fill. Cuddy fitted some of those gaps quite well. Lifeguard Cuddy, Mother Superior Cuddy, school girl Cuddy, French maid Cuddy, Belly dancer Cuddy, so many Cuddys. He could go on, but he was digressing. Where was he? Cuddy filling his gaps -- only it was complicated. Not that he'd ever openly admit it, but Cuddy was already part of his support system. If this all went horribly wrong he'd blow great gaping chasms in his life he might never recover from plus he'd take her down with him, and noble gesture or not, that he didn't want to do. Of course, being an arrogant, egomaniacal, control seeking narcissist came in handy sometimes because, despite the difficulties, he still thought he could do it, it might take longer but as far as emotional stuff was concerned he was all for the slow approach. If he'd believed in divine intervention he might have sat and hoped, but he didn't -- action was needed.

Unfortunately, he had years of misdirection and misinformation, deliberately cultivated by himself, to counteract first. It wasn't as if he could just have a 'serious' conversation with her along the lines of 'you know all that jerky behaviour I've displayed towards you for the last ten, all right maybe longer, years – that wasn't really me' because, even if he had the nerve to do it, which he didn't, it wasn't really true because sometimes he had meant it, and sometimes he really was mean. He had tried in small ways, in very, very small ways, to get her to see him differently, that there was more to him than the jerk. Unfortunately, it had been like a drop in the ocean, in fact, she just thought it was more of his jerk behaviour. So, he continued to sit and think and think and sit. What to do, what to do?


	11. To Hunt or not to Hunt

If passion drives you, let reason hold the reins -- Benjamin Franklin

.

Meanwhile, Cuddy had been making plans to move on with her life that had caught him completely flat footed. Adoption – hadn't seen that one coming. Here he was creeping along at a glacial pace when she'd whizzed passed him and disappeared in a cloud of dust. He'd not dealt with that well. She'd not prepared herself for the worst case scenario, result big bang of emotions, one explosive kiss, fall-out over a wide area, nuclear disaster only just averted. They'd both sounded the retreat, but no matter how they tried to ignore it, they were both looking at each other differently now.

Then came Rachel, another complication, another chance for Cuddy to move on. He didn't like it, even when he analysed it rationally, he didn't like it. First and foremost he needed her doing her job, his balance was off if she wasn't there. No matter how much he disliked her overruling him, he knew he relied on her to stop him leaping off the cliff, to make him double check himself. The trouble was that once he had an idea in his head, he tended to run with it until proven wrong. Of course, if the insane idea really was the only way to go then he'd circumvent her, but he needed that check and balance. Secondly, he had no control over it. He couldn't turn up and intimidate the baby into leaving. He supposed he could send an anonymous message to child services that Cuddy was unfit to be a parent because she lap danced in her spare time, but as that was only in his mind it probably wouldn't have the desired effect. And, he didn't not want her to have Rachel, he was happy for her, he just wanted in as well. That's what it all boiled down to. If he did nothing life would eventually settle back down into a pattern again but it wouldn't stay like that. House was a smart man, he knew that Cuddy would eventual move on again or at least try and he just didn't want her moving on without him.

He'd told her he didn't want a relationship. The thought of it scared him to death – well, the relationship she wanted. The relationship she needed – that was different. What she wanted didn't work for her – it started off fine, all starry eyed romance, but then would collapse as the real Cuddy started to emerge and exert her need for control, her need to manage. The sort of thing that had them clashing on a regular basis because it caused the conflict that he liked between them—sick bastard that he was – he grinned to himself. Unfortunately, she had a lot of 'bad' relationships behind her, a lot of trust issues. It amazed him how she was prepared to try again – very warily but still try. Emotional connections weren't her strong point and as they weren't his either they matched in weaknesses as well as strengths – not a good combination. It meant they both tended to make mistakes where the other one was weak causing misunderstandings, missteps and a skittering back to the safety zones on a regular basis. How to get past it? Did he want to get past it? Did Cuddy want to get past it? And wasn't that the $64,0000 dollar question. He couldn't be sure. It seemed like she did but was it for the right reasons? He'd have to give things up, bits of himself, bits of control and did he really want that? And why was he going round this loop again? He'd digressed, again, from his initial thought. The con that became a pro – brain chemistry – fear and love. . The… emotional thing, which by rights shouldn't have been in the mix at all. Love, that's what he as avoiding…

Perhaps a tigress and her cub would be a better analogy. Thirteen was the cub, cute, small and furry, playful, still with teeth and claws but young enough to be tamed, easily caught. Cuddy was the tigress in the undergrowth, a silent, prowling, powerful presence something that could pounce without warning and take your head off, even if caught she would never be tamed, every day would be the same adrenalin rush as the first encounter. House was ever the hunter, he'd head after the tigress without a glance at the cub, hell, he'd probably heedlessly kick the cub charging for the undergrowth... he was digressing again.

Love – nothing to be scared of, just a load of biochemical and electrical components – endorphins, neurotransmitters – all triggered by the primitive response mechanism. Love isn't blind it's chemically induced. Despite the fact that some die-hard romantics might be appalled at the idea that love can be explained in terms of biochemistry, it's inescapable that romantic and maternal love, both highly rewarding experiences linked to the perpetuation of the species, are closely linked to biological functions. But endorphins could cloud the mind as well as stimulate it. Oxytocin and vasopressin, endorphins, brain opiates to calm the mind, coupled with the serotonin-tinted lenses making you think that the object of your desire was the most wonderful person in the world. Your own body conspiring against you -- a cognitive-emotional impairment.

And what was one of the hormones that started it all off? Adrenalin, involved in the acute stress response, encouraged risky behaviour, had a role in the 'love' response. Rising noradrenalin levels set off tingles and butterflies in the stomach and stimulated adrenalin production that got your blood racing, caused sweaty palms and a racing heart. Essentially, primed you for action.

The whole process from the indiscriminate scramble for physical gratification to the ruby wedding anniversary controlled by endorphins and neurotransmitters initiating and maintaining the attraction and infatuation. Different neurotransmitters playing different roles at each stage of the mating game.

He sighed. He knew his weakness. Love 'em and leave 'em was a much easier policy on the emotions. No heart rending hurts, no unrequited longings, and no clouded brain.

So where was he again? Perhaps he should let her move on – maybe she'd be lucky and even though she'd make the same mistakes again, she might meet someone who could make her happy. They'd never make each other happy… but they might make each other less miserable. He hadn't wanted to let Stacy go but, ultimately, that had been the better choice for both of them – less hurt in the long run. Cuddy didn't need the same things that Stacy did – fundamentally an independent person she had a lot of the things she needed, she didn't always recognise it when she had it and she rationalised with the best of them, but she was logical enough to accept the truth when it was pointed out to her. Should it be Cuddy's choice? Undoubtedly – at some point – just not now because she wasn't in possession of all the facts, and some of those were about her.

Basically, he didn't want to let her go, It didn't matter how many times he turned it over in his head, which angle he looked at it from, how he tried to distance himself, he wanted more of Lisa Cuddy in his life – it was that simple. It wouldn't be easy, his issues, her issues, his tender spots covered in toughened skin that formed a carapace a missile couldn't crack, her tender spots which when touched had her retracting back into her shell and slamming the door faster than he skipped out of clinic duty.

He sighed, then smiled to himself. Such a puzzle – how to get the balance right. So, actions… go forward, stay, go backwards? Back away from the tigress, observe the tigress, pursue the tigress – it was simple really, not easy but simple. Let the hunt begin. He wondered if she knew about the mating habits of tigers.


	12. Exercise is addictive

.

Exercise is highly addictive don't start

* * *

.

She tried to keep her astonishment behind her poker face. House… on her doorstep… again… okay not unprecedented, but at this time in the morning… unheard of. His opening words as he walked in…

"Have you been for a run yet?"

Puzzled she went with answering the question. "No."

"Don't you ever listen to me?" he asked, mock dramatically, but continued before she'd half opened her mouth to huff a response. "Is Rachel fed, watered, changed, asleep?"

"Yes, yes, yes and she's just going down. What do you want, House?"

"If only you said that many yeses to me normally! Ask not what I can do for you, but what I'm here to do for you… or something like that. Go get changed."

"What? What for? What into?" she asked looking down at the casual clothes she was wearing.

"Something skimpy would be nice." Her irritated interrogation look had him continuing "Into whatever you wear for running," he said, as if she was being really dim.

"Running?"

"God, this motherhood thing has turned you brain to mush and you haven't even got the hormonal excuse. Running," he drew the word out, enunciating each syllable, "otherwise known as exercise, cardiovascular, heart and lungs, the stuff that reduces stress levels, risk of stroke and breast cancer, risk of blood clots, helps weight loss, fights aging, prevents muscle and bone loss that often occur with age, lowers blood pressure and maintains the elasticity of arteries, boosts the immune system, raises HDL cholesterol, encourages use of the 50% of your lungs that usually go unused. AND let's not forget that all important release of endorphins that can cause euphoria otherwise known as the runner's high. Of course, if you wanted to make the beast with two backs that has similar health benefits and endorphin release while being more low impact on the joints." He paused, "let me just think about that last point a little more… how limber are you?"

She rolled her eyes. "And you are my what? Jogging partner?"

"Can't really do the jogging thing," he said, waving his cane. "Could help with the endorphin release… perhaps not," he added as he saw her face morph into a dangerous look, "So that leaves Bagheera."

"Bagheera?"

"Again with the repetition. Bagheera, a cunning, smooth talking, terrifying black panther, a wild, reckless assailant of the jungle. You know Mowgli's mentor, his most trusted guide. I think it was Bagheera … Baloo, is the quiet, brown bear, responsible for teaching Mowgli and wolf cubs the Law of the Jungle. Teaching rules is definitely not me – Wilson perhaps but not me, so Bagheera."

"Are you sure you aren't Shere Kahn?"

"Lame tiger looking for an easy meal. Nice. I'm assuming you're not one of those Mom's who go out enjoying themselves leave their kid home alone, I'm guessing you haven't yet organized a staff rota for babe watch, so…"

"I've got too much to do here…"

"That's what maids are for. If it were me I'd have a naked one chained in the kitchen cooking me pancakes on demand, another one in the living room in case I fancied a stimulating game of chess, another naked one in the bathroom to help wash those hard to reach places, and one in the bedroom naturally… naturally being as nature intended."

"Naturally." She crossed her arms.

"Probably another one in the office to lend a hand with… uhmm… paperwork. You, of course, would probably prefer houseboys… I'd be willing to apply for the vacancy in the bedroom…"

She rolled her eyes. "What have you done?" she asked suspiciously.

"I'm wounded," he said, clutching his chest.

"What do you want?"

"Nothing," he said, adopting his best innocent choir boy look.

"House… you've always got an angle," she said, waving her hand to emphasize her point.

He looked to the side as if mulling it over. "Hmmm, nope, just a purely altruistic gesture."

"Altruistic? Who are you and what have you done with Gregory House? Clinic hours?"

"Personal favour. Your rules."

"So I'm going to owe you a personal favour, as yet unspecified, for an as yet unspecified amount of time?"

"No, this is a freebie. One time offer only, which is about to time expire any second now if you don't go change." He made shooing gestures with his hands.

She decided she could think while she changed, without actually committing herself to leaving House unsupervised in her home. When she came back to the living room he was browsing a medical journal. "No rummaging through my drawers?"

"Been there, done that."

"If Rachel wakes up…"

"She won't die of neglect until you get back. I don't need a list of what to do, where everything is or any other useless bits of information you might think necessary, which would take you longer to recite than it will to have your run and which I would have completely forgotten by the time you'd got to your front door. Now go! Shoo! Some of us have to get to work this morning."

She snorted in derision but sidled towards the door, albeit, still with an apprehensive look on her face. He just admired the view of her ass in shorts as she turned round. As the front door closed behind her he grinned mischievously.


	13. Circling the Block

.

If you limit your choices only to what seems possible or reasonable, you disconnect yourself from what you truly want, and all that is left is compromise -- Robert Fritz

* * *

.

Round and round in her head it went as she jogged along, 'What was House up to?' and 'Why was he being nice?'. She shouldn't have left him alone in her house. Perhaps she should go back.

It wasn't his usual modus operandi for winding her up, unless he was setting booby traps in her house at this very moment – perhaps she really should go back. But it didn't feel like a wind up – what was she thinking? This was House. Devising new ways to wind her up was almost his raison d'etre, one of his puzzles. Something he toyed with when he had nothing else to occupy his mind. That didn't quite fit on this occasion, but she wouldn't completely discount it yet.

Was he just trying to get her attention? He had used far more intrusive tactics to obtain that goal. Although, as a tactic, this was working, but only because she was sensitised to his behaviour from previous antics. This didn't have the hallmarks of one of his power plays. He couldn't be trying to be nice. House didn't do nice – except for his own ulterior motives, like winning a bet with Wilson. Maybe Wilson had put him up to it. But for what reason? Was this all Wilson interference?

Then again, it wasn't beyond the bounds of possibility that House was doing it for himself; his obsession with observing her, then trying to confirm his conclusions. She still hadn't got over him knowing her menstrual cycle. She thought back to Friday – he had helped, his cold, calculating mind homing in on the problem, although she still hadn't relaxed and bonded, but she at least knew what she was doing wrong. Perhaps he really did just come to tell her to get more help… but then he could have just said his piece and left…or phoned, or waited until she was at work.

She didn't know why she kept thinking about it… him, his behaviour, she'd made her decision, so she should just accept his behaviour as that of House in friend mode and just let it all wash over her… if only she didn't find him so fascinating, if only he weren't so brilliant, if only he weren't such an ass. And, on a shallower note, if only he weren't so tall, with dreamy blue eyes and a rare but tantalising smile.

On the other hand, he was unpredictable, stubborn, obstinate, persistent, relentless, repressed, anti-social, curmudgeonly, misanthropic, perceptive, observant, stubborn, intelligent, impatient, stubborn, depressed, game-playing, idle, uninhibited… the list went on, in time to her pounding the footpath. Did she mention stubborn?

She wasn't even sure he liked her. He liked bits of her, physically. He liked arguing with her, despite what he said about her skills as a doctor, he frequently provoked confrontation but just as frequently avoided her. Yet, in some ways, he was good for her, as that guy said, what was his name, Ron… Don, that was it, she was focused, confident, compelling when she was arguing with House – thriving on conflict. Perhaps she did to some extent; it was just nice, occasionally, if it stopped.

House was such a child sometimes, and she already had one of those plus a hospital to run. She didn't have time to cope with another one – not one as demanding and petulant as House. She needed some one supportive and caring. It was a shame she wasn't attracted to Wilson. She liked him, he was a good friend, supportive, helpful, pleasant company, good looking but there was no spark. That and his infidelity. His heart was in the right place but he never seemed to know how to say no – and she wasn't going there again.

Not that House was any better, although in fairness to him, he'd only ever committed to one relationship to the best of her knowledge, and he wasn't the one who left -- although he had contributed significantly to the break up, no doubt with malice aforethought, but how much of that was vindictiveness on his part and how much a defence mechanism she didn't know. Bad enough the hate he threw in her direction with out looking for excuses for Stacy. He'd obviously forgiven Stacy though, enough that she'd cheated on her husband with him. But then Stacy had moved away again. She didn't know what happened or how House had felt about that. Easy to assume he'd not taken it well, that it had added to his depression, as he'd spiralled out of control afterwards.

Still, he had been with Stacy for five years, which implied he was capable of a relationship -- with the right woman. She had never attained such permanency but wanted it. It wasn't her that had commitment issues --- her relationships just never seemed to get passed a few months… even with... her mind refused to go there. She hadn't seen the ending to that one coming.

She'd never been very successful with her relationships. To be honest, in the beginning, she'd never put enough effort into them, she'd only made time for casual relationships while studying and when she first started her career. At school, her intelligence, her ambition and drive had scared a lot of boys off. Even at college, although she had met men who were more her equal intellectually, she'd never had a relationship take off. It wasn't that she didn't attract them, she did. They just never hung around for long. It hadn't worried her unduly, she had time, she always felt when she met the right man he wouldn't care about her strengths, wouldn't feel threatened. She had relationships that seemed to start well, then somehow, they just exploded. It always seemed to be the same arguments, her control issues, her job, her priorities – well of course the hospital and patients came first – how could they not.

On the flip side, as she got older and more successful, the men she attracted turned out to want her as, if not quite a dominatrix, certainly dominant. Now she liked control, no doubt about that, but she didn't like the men she dated to be submissive, passive, limp lettuces – even if they were good looking, showered her with gifts and assailed her with compliments. And how House had found out about one of them she shuddered to think. She'd only had the one date before she recognised the way the wind was blowing and bailed quickly, but House had aimed those bondage comments at her for weeks.

In retrospect, she was attracted to the wrong sort of man, bad boys, ones with a rebel aura, not wild so much as insubordinate, recalcitrant… the opposite of her, they were challenging. Then the one she thought was a keeper, the one where she thought she had broken the pattern, the one she thought was 'the one'… best not to go there. Basically, men were untrustworthy, deceitful, cheating, arrogant, smooth-talking, two-faced, micro-cephalic, egotistical, ego-sensitive, hypertension generating, manipulative Neanderthals.

She'd eventually got back into the dating game, but she was extremely wary. She missed having someone… around. Someone to eat with, go places, talk to… have sex with. She didn't miss someone leaving the toilet set up, leaving stubble rings in the sink, putting empty juice bottles back in the fridge, leaving half full milk bottles out of the fridge, putting damp towels on the bed. Perhaps House had been right about that – if he'd stayed in her house before she got Rachel she'd probably… definitely would have been desensitized to clutter.

House again. She still had residual guilt about House, although he'd told her it was perverse, so she guessed he'd forgiven her. But, for a long time, she suspected he hated her, then he seemed just to be in the habit of needling her, then she became part of his games and at some point his attitude towards her changed. He'd have power plays one minute then protect her job from his shenanigans the next. It was confusing. It was interesting. It was frustrating and intriguing. She didn't like not understanding, not being able to predict. She was like House that way. She supposed it came down to controlling things – she just wasn't so obsessive about it as House was – really, she wasn't. He was always the square peg in the round hole, depending on the hole, sometimes he fitted but, uncomfortably. She liked things to go smoothly – but there was no denying his brilliance – his beautiful mind.

However, he didn't want a relationship, or the one he wanted wasn't what she wanted – God, how stupid had she been over that? She supposed he still wanted her… if she could trust him to be discreet she might have considered that, if they could have integrated friendship and affection. If it was anybody but him – he was a private person so perhaps he would be discreet, although Wilson would get to know. Unfortunately, he could just as easily enjoy flaunting his conquest, at the most inappropriate time to embarrass her or because he didn't know what to do with the feelings. Although she should be able to deflect and counterattack, just the sheer number of possible scenarios his creative brain could come up with made her nervous. She couldn't possibly predict and defuse all of them before they happened. He'd been making rumours up about her for years so people wouldn't necessarily believe them… probably, especially if she acted predictably, but sometimes the sheer audacity of his 'pranks' caught her off-guard.

He wasn't one for boosting her ego, either. If she ever asked him how she looked she'd get some sarky comment back – or just the truthful answer back. God forbid she ever ask him if her bum looked big in this skirt – she'd get 'yeah, your ass is always enormous… ', except he'd say it with a twinkle in his eye or even add 'just the way I like it' which, maybe, wasn't so bad.

The desk though, what a gesture… good thing she'd had that timely reminder about what an insensitive ass he was, otherwise she might have done something… impulsive. If she had a relationship with House, she wouldn't put it passed him to manipulate her with it at work. Then again, he'd kept her IVF attempts secret, so perhaps he wouldn't parade it… but, he would tease her with it and, if she pissed him off, the gloves would be off. He could use that knowledge privately or publicly to say the most wounding things to her, she could be deeply hurt. It was just far too dangerous a direction to take.

He was probably a lousy lover, she consoled herself. He was selfish, self-centred egomaniac who doubtless thought his very presence in the room constituted foreplay. That thought might have firmed her resolve, if it were not for the fact that performance could be improved – however, not likely in an egomaniac. But, then again, House didn't like not to be good, scratch that, very good, at things he decided to do. What House liked to learn appeared to be random, although he liked learning things about people, he liked… needed control and she was fairly sure he liked sex which argued in favour of this being one of the areas where he'd make an effort. Then there was Stacy – not only had she been with him for five years she'd gone back for seconds – but he had loved her.

House was like a black hole for emotions. He needed, and he sucked people into his orbit with no regard to the consequences to them… or himself. Perhaps no regard was a little harsh – miniscule regard for anyone else. True, he'd advocate for his patients, he'd lied for his patients, had his nuts crunched for a patient, tried to save his team when Vogler wanted to fire one. He'd been amazingly helpful when she was looking for a sperm donor.

On the other hand, there were his self-destructive tendencies and if he was provoked and/or deprived of drugs he could lash out both physically and verbally. He'd hit both Wilson and Chase and she still remembered his verbal attack on her about her mothering ability – the jibe still hurt even after all this time, even with her retrospective understanding. Of all the people she knew he was the one who could hurt her the most, with a laser like precision, if he so wanted, and House had a track record of hurting people. He was the closest to understanding her, better than she knew herself sometimes and that was scary. It was sometimes useful – but scary.

He was right, she needed more help, needed to delegate more… needed to cede some control… houseboys indeed – an intriguing thought though, she must admit. Imagine House's face if she did get houseboys – that would keep his mind occupied while he tried to get rid of them. She smiled as she jogged – entirely due to the feel good factor brought on by the endorphin release from running – as was the flush in her cheeks – definitely the running, nothing to do with that intriguing thought… nothing.

She wanted him to be less careless of himself, to make more human connections, to be a little happier. She didn't want him to change just be the best person he could be. If he could open up, make more connections to her -- but it was all too late, she had Rachel now and she didn't have time to develop a relationship with House. It would take time, he'd express himself far more through actions than he ever would in words and sometimes she had to be watching him carefully to spot the subtle nuances of his behaviour – time she didn't have.

And that was the problem with House, no matter how much she admired how his mind worked, or respected his medical judgement or just found herself drawn to him, he was an emotional vampire and she didn't have enough confidence in her personal relationships to stand up to him. She had to keep him at arms length.


	14. Use your imagination

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Consistency is the last refuge of the unimaginative -- Oscar Wilde

* * *

When she got back to her house, red faced and gasping, it was suspiciously quiet as she came through the front door. Walking quietly -- not sneaking you understand, her heavy breathing making that difficult and not wanting a dissimulation argument levelled against her --- on the off chance she might catch House in the act, either snooping or setting a booby trap, she was surprised and then amused to find him doing neither. He'd fallen asleep on the couch, slouched but not supine. Her brain practically stuttered to a halt with the possibilities of yelling, iced water, tying his shoe laces together, applying some of her make-up to his face. Dozens of things occurred to her that he would probably do to her in the same circumstances. In the end she just reached for her mobile phone and took a photo… Photoshop was a wonderful thing, she grinned evilly to herself. Having satisfied herself that Rachel was fine she went back to chuck House out.

"Fine baby sitter you are, House," she said, rather more loudly than necessary, and smiled to herself when House startled, "Burglars could have cleared the place out while you were snoring away." She moved towards him, he just blinked at her owlishly. "And you've drooled on my upholstery." Neither the snoring nor the drooling was true, but it was agreeable to make fun of him for a change.

"Did you actually run as it doesn't seem to have had the desired effect? Still bitchy. On the other hand, flushed look, shortness of breath – admit it, you're just hot for me?"

"Keep dreaming. I'm going for a shower, you can let yourself out." He heaved himself off the couch.

"What! No gratitude?"

"I would have done, but your bitchy comment negated that," she said, as she headed to her bedroom. She was about to pull her top over her head when she realised he had followed her. She should have seen him out and made sure the door was bolted! "The front door is that way, House." She indicated with her head, and then pointed when he continued towards her.

"I'm disoriented – just woken up. Don't you want a blow by blow account of the rug rat's activities for the last half hour?" He walked passed her and headed for her bathroom.

"As you were sound asleep, I'm sure _Rachel_ did nothing but sleep as well." She was suspicious when he went into her bathroom, maybe he needed to pee before he left, it would be just like him to do it without saying anything. It would also be just like him not to close the door, she thought, before she heard the clattering of bottles and realised he was just snooping. She scurried after him.

"What are you doing?" He was peering at the ingredients on one of the bottles.

"Why do you buy all this stuff? You know it doesn't work, if it did it would have to be classed as a medicine and be on prescription. Sun cream makes sense but, if you just want to hydrate your skin, the same stuff you put on baby's bottoms works just as well."

"Doesn't quite have the same… aroma. Give me that. Quit poking around!" She slapped at his hand as he continued to rifle through her toiletries.

"It's not eco-friendly to buy stuff like this." That hit the mark, those nagging feelings of guilt about buying make-up and fancy toiletries, which, on an entirely rational level, were a pure self indulgence and consequently ecologically unsound. However, from an entirely feminine perspective, were necessities on a par with chocolate for pleasure inducing ego boosting. The mere thought of having to part with them inducing feelings of 'stuff the planet' and squashing the feelings of guilt.

"About equivalent to all the hot air you expend trying to aggravate me. Why do you care what I buy?"

"I don't. Just curious about your self-delusion." He switched her toothbrush on. She made a grab for it.

"Will you stop messing with my things!"

"Just testing a hypothesis!" He released the toothbrush and she switched it off.

"What hypothesis?" she asked before she could stop herself.

"Whether you'd have a Pavlovian response to an electric toothbrush."

It took her a second or two to get his meaning before she scowled at him. "You're an ass."

"Only if you did, maybe we should be at it like rabbits rather than you with your rabbit and me with… something that's not a rabbit." There was a teasing gleam in his eyes. She put her hands on her hips.

"I think you should act like a rabbit and go forth and multiply."

"That's the idea… well, apart from the multiply bit."

"In that case, subtract one from the number of people in this room and leave."

Undeterred, he leant on his cane and continued, "And just think of all the health benefits. Sex, with a little energy and imagination, uses every muscle group, provides good cardiovascular, low-impact, endorphin releasing exercise and burns about 300 calories an hour. Endorphins released during orgasm stimulate immune system cells, which helps prevent cancer as well as wrinkles, plus makes your hair shine – so you could get rid of most of these things." He waved his hand in the general direction of her toiletries. "Not to mention all those natural 'painkillers' helping keep aches and pains at bay. Then you've got the production of extra oestrogen and testosterone hormones keeping your bones and muscles healthy, leaving you feeling fabulous inside and out".

It was a good sales pitch but she wasn't buying.

"House, if you want endorphin releasing exercise you should do your physiotherapy, and do some sport." He cringed.

"Cripple."

"That's just an excuse, there are plenty of sports you could do that don't require you to run – swimming, rowing, kayaking, you could probably even cycle…"

"Boring."

"Or wheel chair tennis might appeal to your competitive nature." He gave a non-committal shrug. "Or, if you were just after a pure endorphin release, you could try cryotherapy."

"Cryo what?"

"Subjects you to ultra-cold temperatures triggering endorphin release." She looked at her array of moisturisers and gave a slight ironic smile, "Apparently, it's good for getting rid of wrinkles too."

An association between freezing and ice baths was too close for House. "It's a beauty treatment? Lost cause in my case."

"They use it for sports injuries, so it might work for you," she argued.

"I prefer my solution."

"Failing that you could just smile."

"What?!" It wasn't often she caught him with an unexpected comment. She smiled internally to herself.

"Smiling, even a forced one, raises your endorphin levels plus it would have the advantage of scaring people to death… I'm sure you'd enjoy that."

"Still prefer my solution," he persisted.

"I think it's time you were heading to work," she said, returning to normal ground.

"I know the boss, she'll let me off for bad behaviour," but, having said it, he turned and walked out of the bathroom. Shaking her head and smiling now he couldn't see her she reached to turn the shower on. Then she heard him singing 'I'm goin' to wash that man right out of my hair' and his head appeared round the door.

"Damn, I thought you'd have had fewer clothes on by now. Must work on my timing."

"House!"

"Going," his head slid back behind the door. She pulled the door open. He was still standing there. He smiled wryly.

"Thank you," she said

"Your welcome" he replied, turned and headed for the front door. With his hand on the knob he turned and said "Sure you don't want help with those hormones?

She couldn't help smiling as she shook her head. The song kept running through her head all the time she was showering. Shampooing her hair would never be the same again.

After her shower, while drying herself she could hear music – a gentle piano song. She dressed and went in search of the tune. It was playing in Rachel's room on a huge boombox which wasn't hers. House, she thought, and smiled. She didn't recognise the tune but it sounded like a lullaby. She thought nice thoughts about House until the tune played on her laptop when she opened it, every time an email came in, when her mobile phone rang every caller had the same tune – it didn't sound any where near as good on small tinny speakers. She almost appreciated the joke the first time – she was ready to tear him limb from limb by the end of the morning. Then she remembered the photograph she'd taken. She downloaded it to her computer, expended a bit of effort with Photoshop, then made a phone call.

"Wilson? I need a favour."


	15. Give me chocolate and nobody gets hurt

.

Do you really think it is weakness that yields to temptation? I tell you that there are terrible temptations which it requires strength, strength and courage to yield to -- Oscar Wilde

* * *

She grinned unabashedly when he turned up at her door later, turned and sashayed to the kitchen making him limp quickly after her. She could see him seething which added to her amusement. She saw him lift his cane. "Smack that on the work surface hard enough to wake Rachel and I'll kick you out faster than you came in."

He paused, cocked his head as he evaluated what she had said. He was twice her size, the possibility of her kicking him out without his cooperation was small, even with his bad leg. Hmm. "Or?"

"You think there's an or? It's probably more an and," she replied.

"And?" he said, giving her a quizzical look.

"And you don't get to eat any of the truce offering."

"Truce not peace?"

"Peace? Us?" she said, sardonically.

"Good point. So how long's the truce?"

"If we're lucky about as long as it takes us to eat it. If we try really, really hard until your next prank."

"My prank!" he said, a bit louder than he intended. She glared at him but fortunately Rachel remained asleep. "What's the offering?" he asked more quietly.

She uncovered a large chocolate cake and placed it on the counter between them.

"That's it?" he said, a look of faux shock on his face. "You're not even going to serve it wearing something skimpy?"

"No," she replied, evenly.

"Low cut?"

"No."

"Short skirt?" he persisted.

"That'll be a no."

"You're no fun," he groused.

"Take it or leave it," she replied, calmly.

He glanced from her to the cake several times. Huffing grumpily he pulled up a stool, hooked his cane on the edge of the counter and reached for the cake. She batted his hand away. He scowled at her.

"My kitchen, my rules. You can at least eat off a plate and preferably use a fork," she said, placing them before him and reaching for a knife to cut him a slice. "Don't worry, you can have more if you want it."

"You'd better have baked several of these babies in order for me to get over you ruining my rep. You realise that Wilson is still laughing?"

"You'll get over it. You've done plenty worse to me."

"I suppose years of blending out your cellulite made you a dab hand at Photoshop."

"I don't have cellulite – and you're a one to talk!" He peered at her quizzically. "Cheerleader photo," she elaborated.

"What cheerleader pho... Oh that!"

There was something about the way he said it… "It wasn't real, was it?" Not quite sure whether she was asking or confirming but definitely not ready to let the anomaly drop.

"You know I played lacrosse." Not a straight answer.

"The seasons don't overlap," she pressed.

"Still … not like me is it? If you're going to sin Cuddy you might as well make it worthwhile," he said pointing to her small piece of cake. "Truce time's not going to last long with a piece that size. Besides it's not as if anyone would notice another inch on that ass of yours… unless you couldn't get it through the doorway."

She allowed the deflection. Now her suspicions were aroused there were other ways to check his story. "That's your head you're thinking of. What's that song?"

"What song?" he said, around a mouthful of cake.

"Don't play dumb." She pointed her fork at him.

He smirked. "Parasite's Pavane."

"You wrote it?" Suddenly it had a completely different significance.

House looked uncomfortable. "I stole it from the internet, just changed the beat."

"You wrote it!" She stated. House took a great interest in the cake in front of him. "What's it really called?" she persisted.

"I told you."

She wasn't buying it. "It sounds more like a lullaby…"

"I didn't know your musical education ran to such differentiation."

"House!"

He looked at her, then sighed. "Whatever you want to call it. No doubt you'll pick something mushy!"

She smiled. "Thank you."

"Twice in one day. Has hell frozen over? How about that lap dance?"

"As you don't believe in hell that would, of course, be an impossibility. Did you do any work today?"

He nearly choked on his piece of cake. "Don't be ridiculous!"

"Then I'd say hell is still flaming on all burners. How many people did you smile at today?"

He groaned. "You're a wicked, wily witch -- my team – they tried to slide under the desk. Some interns who, gratifyingly, flattened themselves against the wall. The nagging nurse down in the clinic who became speechless, if only she'd keep to that state. Oh dear! Did I lie about doing clinic duty?" He sighed. "It was going so well… then Wilson… whose response… was not as expected."

"Really?" she asked, feigning concern, which, with the huge grin on her face, was difficult. Throw away lines often lodge in House's mind to fester subconsciously which he'd then feel the need to test. Naturally, when she'd suggested the smiling there was no way of knowing if he would act on it, certainly he wouldn't do it long term. Obviously, the chance to mess with people's heads was just too much of a temptation. Of course, when she said it she'd had no intention of playing the game against him. However, feeling the need for some retribution after the lullaby stunt, sweet gesture though that was hidden behind an irritation, there it was available to exploit. It appeared Machiavellian on her part when, in fact, it was just luck – not that she was going to reveal that.

House relived the moment in his head.

"Who would have thought she would have made such an impact?" Wilson had said, smiling back.

"What?" had been House's erudite response, his fake smile slipping from his face.

"I think you mean 'who'. Didn't think you could keep it secret did you?" Wilson taunted.

"Who?" House had asked with a sinking feeling in his gut.

"Now you mean 'what'. You've obviously got it bad, you can't think straight."

Wilson kept glancing at his PC screen while he was talking, so House sidled round to his side of the desk. He spluttered and stared at Wilson's wallpaper. Him, House, asleep, baby lying on his chest -- it would have been cute had it been any one else but him. He could have mocked it mercilessly had it been Wilson or one of his team, but no, it was him. He was horror stricken.

"Oh! The big bad doctor's had his heart melted by a baby," Wilson teased.

And to make things worse, Wilson had the photo. House was going to kill her … after he'd spanked her and had her do a lap dance and several other things that were x rated.

"Show that to anybody else and you'll undergo the experience of the victims of Vlad the Impaler," House said, lifting his cane threateningly.

"Too late," said Wilson. "People were concerned about you… going round smiling like that." And Wilson smiled a really evil smile. House growled and stormed out the door, Wilson's laughter echoing in his ears.

House came back to himself in Cuddy's kitchen. She was grinning away like a Cheshire cat. Now he'd had chance to think about it, Wilson wouldn't have shown the photo to anybody else. He'd want to keep it for blackmail purposes later, like wanting him to consult on a patient he wasn't interested in.

"You're a pair of manipulative bitches… maybe that's bitchi," he said to her.

"Takes one to know one," she replied.

"Who else did you send it to?"

"Who? No one," she answered casually.

He narrowed his eyes in contemplation. "Where else did you send it?"

"Hmmm, let me see… my phone, copy to a cd… my laptop, my email…"

"I'm sensing a pattern..."

"Oh, and your email," she finished with.

"Mine? But the team might read it…" he said, aghast.

"Is that a problem?" she asked, innocently

He picked up what was left of the cake and started towards her. Sensing his intention she was suddenly wary. "House, you really don't want to do that."

"Yes, I do," he said. She slid off her stool and backed away across the kitchen. "Revenge will be sweet," he continued, "I'll lick it off afterwards."

She wasn't quick enough to hide the look on her face. The one where 'that didn't sound like too bad an idea' flashed across it. She froze. House froze.

House recovered first. "Thinking about it, I'd better go delete that email before anybody else sees it." Then he bolted.


	16. Equal Opportunities Insulter

Part 9a

"An apology? Bah! Disgusting! Cowardly! Beneath the dignity of any gentleman, however wrong he might be." -- Steve Martin

* * *

Lisa Cuddy strode into her office, hung her lab coat up, and proceeded to pace backwards and forwards behind her desk. 'Damn the man.' She paced. 'Damn both men,' she thought. Damn Mr O'Leary for offering a donation with conditions that involved House. And damn House for … being House. House would never apologise, especially as he was right, but she was going to have to brave his sarcasm to ask – not that she held out much hope. Damn House – as if it weren't bad enough that he was now in her head. Every time she showered, him, singing that song -- not just the song, but him singing it ran through her head. And now, after his comments about her electric toothbrush she couldn't switch it on without thinking about her vibrator and by extension, House. Talk about Pavlovian response! It was all very… frustrating! And yes, it was a long time since she'd had sex. Damn the man. Thank God for power showers… as well as vibrators. She sighed again. Might as well get it over with, dash her hopes sooner rather than later, otherwise she'd just keep thinking about it, about all the things she could use the money for and wind up getting more irritated.

Amazingly, he was in his office, behind his desk, even though the patient was diagnosed and it was after five. He was staring at his computer – some porn site no doubt. She really should get IT to block such sites. And that was another thing, she'd looked up his alma mater and found out that Greg House had indeed been a cheerleader. A somewhat embarrassing revelation and yet he had proffered the information, indirectly and in a manner she was unlikely to believe – for what? Damn the man. She pushed her way through the door. He was obviously not too involved because he glanced up as she came in and gave her an enquiring look.

"I need you to apologise to Mrs O'Leary." No point in beating about the bush. She walked towards his desk.

"You 'need' me to?" He asked, seeking clarification. She nodded. She leaned forward onto his desk, a bit of cleavage never went amiss when negotiating with House. True to form his eyes dropped. "Please," she added sweetly. He closed his eyes and put his head back. Interesting reaction, she thought, wondering what his next move would be. Not an out right refusal… planning her humiliation, perhaps. She hated having to react, she rather have her strategy all planned out.

"Need you. Please." He sighed. "If only you said that in a different context. I'd be only too happy to oblige." He opened his eyes and brought his head back down. "But for an apology..."

"Make an exception."

"What's in it for me?" She was surprised. Still not a rejection. "And don't say anything about the milk of human kindness, altruism, reasonableness or common courtesy – it will spoil the moment."

Okaaay, she thought, not that she had a lot to bargain with in this scenario. "A week off clinic duty," was her opening offer.

"It can't just be that we are being sued then, it must be something else… Hmmm a donation perhaps?"

She wondered if she had made a tactical mistake but, as they were still discussing it, she'd stick with this strategy which was working so far. He was a master player though. He could just be toying with her, setting her up. There was the small matter of the photo which he hadn't retaliated against yet. Not that he necessarily would do. He was perfectly capable of accepting that she'd won that round and move on to the next game but it was still within his time limit for a counter strike. She nodded her head.

"So, you not yelling at me for upsetting a patient. You not yelling at me to apologise after the patient asked for an apology…?"

"Actually, it's the patient's husband who wants you to apologise to his wife. She's just happy to be able to walk properly again without pain or sticks."

"Soooo, two non-yellings and a clinic pass… big donation?" He hazarded.

"If you apologise. He's made a donation but he will give more if you apologise."

"How much more?" He asked, interest piqued.

"What does it matter to you how much? Since when have you cared?" She dodged, out of some reflex action not to boost his ego any more than it already was – if that were possible.

"Why don't you want to tell me? Unless you are having a particularly masochistic moment, it's obviously big enough that you're here attempting the impossible."

"Actually, it's one of my optimistic moments, I'm thinking positively. I'm thinking highly improbable rather than impossible," she parried. Perhaps she should rethink the ego thing.

"You're thinking positively because it's a donation, you'd be thinking negatively if we were being sued. It's an accountancy thing," he countered.

They stared at each other for a few minutes, or rather Cuddy stared at House, while House stared at her cleavage. He was obviously happily occupied. Impasse, she thought. "He said he'd double it."

He looked up at her. "He must have had my view." Then looked back down. "You've been cheating on me with another admirer," he said to her breasts.

She huffed in displeased frustration and straightened up. "You won't do it, will you?"

"It would be hypocritical to apologise about something I was right about?"

"Knowing you, it's not what you said but how you said it!"

"True. But you still expect me to bend my principles for plain old filthy lucre; that's not going to happen. Clinic duty is not going to cut it.

"Not even say, two weeks?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Ooo, even bigger donation – no. Now a personal request…"

She hesitated. "House this donation could cover the bill for all the times you or your team have broken the MRI scanners, the unauthorised and unbilled tests you do, the insurance premiums…"

"I'm unmoved by such incidentals," he said, waving his hand in front of him.

"Incidentals! Like keeping the clinic supplied with lollipops at the rate you go through them," she said, frustration creeping into her voice. He sprang up from his chair.

"Well, why didn't you say so in the first place – can't have the clinic running out of suckers." He put his jacket on and walked towards the door. She was looking a bit non-plussed. "See 'personal' reason. I demand more red ones." He exited the office and limped down the corridor towards the elevators. It took a few moments for her brain to catch up, by which time he was part way down the hall and she had to scamper after him.

"You're going to apologise?" She sought confirmation. She had this horrible suspicion of more mocking.

"Sure. Just to the wife?"

"Did you insult the husband as well?"

"Naturally. I'm an equal opportunities insulter."

She groaned. "You're an equal opportunities ass." She stabbed the lift button for their floor. "Keep it simple."

"Of course," he said, with a smirk.

"I mean it."

"I take it your coming with me. Don't trust me to go?"

"I'm more worried about the exit plan."

"Must be a really, really big donation."

"Don't mention the donation to Mrs O'Leary."

"Oh, like that is it," a sly look on his face.

"House!"

"Don't worry. I'll keep in mind the lifetime supply of lollipops. And, of course, should they ever run out I'll expect you to supply something else for me to suck on." They were outside the patient's door now, she couldn't kill him, there'd be witnesses. "What do you think – the serious, concerned doctor look or the fake smile look that I have been practising lately?" He demonstrated for her consideration… and as a reminder that he hadn't forgotten that incident.

"Stick with the serious, concerned doctor look." She went to open the door, he got there before her.

"No, let me – it'll give the impression I'm a gentleman – instead of just us with control issues."

She winced internally. Please God don't let him say anything that makes Mr O'Leary cancel the cheque he had already given her. Perhaps she was just being greedy and House was about to punish her…


	17. Quid quo pro

It is a good rule in life never to apologize. The right sort of people do not want apologies, and the wrong sort take a mean advantage of them." -- P.G. Wodehouse

* * *

House let Cuddy precede him into the room so he could admire the view. Having given her a few steps head start he did his usual forceful entrance into the room. "I've come to apologise," he said, without preamble, directly to Mrs O'Leary ignoring the husband in the room, who was sat on the other side of her bed. Mrs O'Leary eyed House speculatively then glanced at her husband before replying.

"Why? You didn't say anything that didn't need saying."

"Okay," House agreed then started to turn. Cuddy, who had stopped slightly in front of him which he had found somewhat surprising, stopped him by surreptitiously pressing the heel of her shoe onto his instep. Now, he could create a scene, he could yelp and hobble about in pain, he could give a tirade of snarky remarks or… Cuddy's eyebrows rose significantly and she stood slightly taller as she tried not to jump too much in front of the O'Learys as House's hand was placed on her lower back and moved down. He gave a gentle squeeze then released, without removing his hand. He'd accept her bridle as long as there was a quid pro quo. He wondered if she'd get the message. There was a pause all round until the pressure increased on his foot again. He increased the pressure of his hand, but presumed that Cuddy thought he needed to say something further. He thought he'd finished – options… obstinate, play dumb, ignore her, play nice. How much did he want the lollipops? How much did he want to mess with Cuddy? How much did he want to play nice with Cuddy? The last one won out, even though his actual thoughts on playing nice with Cuddy required considerably less clothes. Still to play nice with Cuddy he needed her to play nice with him and to get her to play he needed to get her interested in playing. He didn't want to reveal his hand but he had to tempt her to place a bet. The stakes were high, the reward would be huge the loss, devastating.

"Not what I said but how I said it." He hid his inner smugness at his response – it made it sound like he'd listened to Cuddy, which he had and he did, he'd just never admit it. The pressure of her heel reduced but she didn't remove it entirely, which meant that she didn't move forward, which meant that he still had his hand on her gluteus maximus – and what a nice, firm gluteus maximus it was. Perhaps she had got the message, or perhaps the pay off of being able to cripple him… again, was worth the proximity, or perhaps she was enjoying it... no, she wouldn't allow herself to do that at work. Interestingly, she never played that game… not at work anyway. She'd schmooze, ooze, flatter, flirt, fraternize, charm, lure, pander, persuade, cajole, wine, dine, golf and party. Astutely and deftly using her armoury of subtle strategies and not so subtle assets to cleverly manipulate her chosen prey -- be that a donor, employee or other poor sucker. But, under no circumstances, would anyone ever say that she'd slept her way to the top. He tuned back into the conversation.

"But had you not said it so… forcefully, it would not have penetrated my thick skull, made impenetrable by hardened lacquer supplied and applied by the highest paid morons, to my brain softened by years of employing people to do my thinking for me. I may have paraphrased."

"Did you say that?" Cuddy asked, the shock on her face was priceless. The pressure on his foot increased but that was probably because she was turning to look at him with out actually moving her foot. Uh oh, her face had that 'you cannot be serious look'. He pursed his lips as if in deep thought.

"I just explained that statins inhibit the production of cholesterol and that they do it really, really well. And that some doctors seem to have forgotten what they learned in biochemistry 101 about the role of cholesterol in the human body. That it's the main organic molecule in the brain, constituting over half the dry weight of the cerebral cortex. That it makes cells waterproof, no cholesterol -- the biochemistry inside the cell wouldn't be different to that on the outside. It's the body's repair substance, there's a high level in scar tissue including that in the arteries. It's a powerful antioxidant protecting against cancer and aging, has a key role in the formation of memory and the uptake of hormones in the brain, including serotonin, the feel-good chemical -- low cholesterol, the serotonin receptors can't work. Low cholesterol disrupts the production of adrenal hormones, leads to blood sugar problems, oedema, mineral deficiencies, chronic inflammation, difficulty in healing, allergies, asthma, reduced libido, infertility." He paused. "She's paraphrasing… a bit… slightly… possibly… maybe," he shrugged, then directed his attention at Mrs O'Leary. "Are you trying to get me into trouble?"

Cuddy closed her eyes briefly in the 'I can't believe it, God give me strength not to kill him' look before turning back to the patient.

"Mrs O'Leary, on behalf of the hospital, I offer…"

"Oh, no need to apologise, he was right… medically speaking… and about me, to some extent. I am a little stubborn and my doctor's bills have been expensive this last year. Paying that much money, you like to think you've bought the best advice and care. I now know differently. But you read and hear so much about how high levels of cholesterol are bad for you… so that when your doctor suggests them…

"You and thousands of others," House butted in. "Efforts to convert healthy people into patients are bolstered by the full weight of the government, the media and the medical establishment, working collectively to propagate the cholesterol dogma and convince the population that high cholesterol is the precursor of heart disease. Statins can prevent angina, atherosclerosis, reduce strokes and coronary heart disease, unblock drains, clear grid-locks, make you live until you're a hundred and fifty, when in fact they can make you feel like you're a hundred when you're only sixty five."

"But there's an enormous amounts of data confirming that statins are safe to take. That their benefits far outweigh the well-documented risks." Cuddy felt the need to stick up for the establishment.

"Yeah, yeah, the figures are conclusive. The medical profession is winning the battle for your arteries, and statins are one of the most powerful allies against heart and vascular diseases. They're a wonder drug. Worldwide, they are now the most commonly prescribed drug in the history of medicine. The only common side effects are tummy upsets, aches, muscle aches and liver problems most of which settle with time. Significant side-effects such as moderate to crippling pain or loss of memory or libido, forgetfulness, confusion, loss of names and words, numbness in the fingertips, that wouldn't happen after taking a drug that is hailed everywhere as the greatest pharmacological find of the 21st century… unless, of course, your one of the lucky ten per cent," he replied, with the merest hint of sarcasm.

"Nothing the doctors, the warnings on the packets or the promotional literature said led me to expect any such effects. I was okay for several months, then my legs started feeling like lead weights, I lost concentration. Next, I started getting a terrible muscle pain in my thighs, I couldn't lift my foot off the ground, I couldn't get on and off the toilet. I couldn't even put my knickers on. It was a struggle to walk…" said Mrs O'Leary.

"It's called the 'statin shuffle' --a slow, wobbly walk across the room," House elucidated.

"I've needed walking sticks for months, sometimes a wheelchair if I had to walk far. My doctors never even suggested that it could be the statins. I've had every test, at some considerably expense in time and money, but nothing was found."

"The test for rhabdomyolysis or muscle wasting is elevated levels of a chemical called creatine kinase, but many people experience pain and fatigue even though they have normal CK levels. Tests can be done to identify those patients at greatest risk of side-effects but they are not widely utilised." Cuddy continued to defend the establishment.

"The cardiologist was so reassuring. He said that in less than one in a thousand did statins cause a serious inflammation in the muscles. I was becoming increasingly decrepit... naturally one expects some deterioration with age but it seemed excessive. He made it sound like I was over reacting… or imagining it -- what could I expect at 72?"

"The nonchalance with which some health care professionals appear to shrug off patient concerns is extraordinary. There's widespread evidence of such side-effects from statin intolerance but it gets ignored. Too many people with a vested interest means statin related problems aren't investigated properly, they are seen as drugs that can do no wrong," said House. Cuddy's face was a picture.

"Well, they are cheap and effective, save thousands of lives a year, significantly reducing strokes and coronary heart disease," Cuddy chipped in.

"So nobody wants to criticise this 'wonder-drug' found to be effective against some of the most common health problems in the industrialised world. Could that be because they'd be taking on the pharmaceutical giants that developed the drug?" mused House.

"All drugs have side-effects, and every time a prescription is written, a doctor is making a risk-benefit analysis. The view of most doctors is that the risk-benefit analysis for statins is favourable," replied Cuddy. Ever the bureaucrat thought House.

"Some doctors don't like to admit that drugs might be bad for you. Some doctors have dollar signs in their eyes – all that commission, sorry donations from drug companies. Some drug trials omit certain groups of people from their victims… victims, did I say victims, I meant test subjects. The reason statins are believed to be safe, is that trials don't include people who are likely to have problems. There's the TNT trial, published in the New England Journal of Medicine in 2005, in which 46 percent of the original pool of 18,000 people were excluded because they had some illness or didn't respond well to the drug. There is no controlled study that shows that statins benefit women without pre-existing heart disease. Then if you add in the additional risk factors of smaller body frame and being over sixty five the odds are not favourable."

"But they hand these things out like candy. One doctor even told her she'd die if she didn't take them," piped in Mr O'Leary.

"All drugs have a dark side. If statins were a sweet, the FDA would have banned them by now. Unless you've made a pact with the devil you're going to die of something. People want a long and healthy life. They don't want to drop dead of something preventable, so the current trend is for preventative action. All very noble. In recent years, the most prominent change in medical practice is for pharmaceutical profligacy, contrary to the traditional and rational adage of 'the fewer drugs prescribed, the better'. Doctors blindly follow guidelines to hand out pills for high blood pressure and cholesterol, but lots of the drugs have side effects which many of you old fogies find debilitating. Add to that there are trials that found that long-term use of statins, therefore persistent low cholesterol, actually increased the _all-cause mortality_ compared to a placebo, and you realise that preventive action may be irrelevant and even harmful to wrinklies. But, the choice is yours. Average life expectancy is around 78 years, would you rather have a relatively healthy six years walking around then drop dead or have six and a half years going commando before shuffling off this mortal coil? I guess the trouble is the dropping but not dying possibility."

"You don't think that maybe a lesser dose would help then?" pressed Mr O'Leary.

"A sensible doctor might advise that there might be alternatives to statin therapy – such as fibrates or diet. Although fibrates can also cause myopathy, so best avoid them for now. I know this is radical and you need to be self-disciplined, but you could try the drug free approach. A study in the Archives of Internal Medicine last year found that omega-3 reduced the chance of dying from heart disease more than statins. Then there's red wine, dark chocolate, porridge, fresh air, long walks, small amounts of cheese made from unpasteurised milk, plenty of leafy greens, wild salmon, berries and… laughter".

Cuddy stared at him. "What? I said it was radical. Haven't you heard that laughter is the best medicine? After your pep talk on endorphins and smiling you must know that laughter reduces stress and the risk of heart disease improves blood vessel function and increases blood flow... by more than 20 percent which is a similar effect to that of aerobic activity. Fifteen minutes a day is recommended as well as regular exercise to reduce your risk of cardiovascular disease. Best of all, this medicine is fun, free, and easy to use."

"Is that why she doesn't need the anti-depressants either? You've stopped all her medication," asked Mr O'Leary.

"We're you depressed, or was it a case of adding insult to injury -- your doctors saying you were depressed causing you to exaggerate the side effects when, in fact, you were depressed because the side effects were so bad? Give yourself three or four weeks and see how much improvement you get. If you still feel miserable and you can't face a laughing regime I'm sure your doctor will be happy to prescribe them for you again."

"I never thought I needed them in the first place but my doctor thought it would help. I already feel so much better, there's been such significant improvement and I'm so looking forward to being able to do things that I haven't been able to do for months. Simple things, like go for a walk in the park… think and speak for myself." She said with a significant look at her husband. "I find it hard to believe that this all started from a simple health check."

"These days few crinklies are allowed to enjoy being healthy. Bureaucracy demands written records which leads to over diagnosis, over treatment, and needless anxiety. 30 years ago Ivan Illich wrote a book called Medical Nemesis, in which he called this trend 'the medicalisation of health'. He said that the practice of medicalising the elderly can be harmful and many of the guidelines for treating high blood pressure and cholesterol are based on much younger people or on evidence that the drugs reduce the risk of a heart attack or stroke, which they do but only by a small amount, while the long list of adverse effects - aches and pains, poor mobility, depression, disturbed sleep, skin and gut complaints - can, unfortunately, often be mistaken for decrepitude. Basically, statins are only useful in those with a strong family history of heart disease or men with a history of heart attacks. For everyone else they're best avoided as they seriously mess up the functioning of nerve cells, affecting muscles and mental function."

"So, should I stop taking mine then?" asked Mr O'Leary.

"In your case they're probably keeping the senility from advancing." House almost yelped as Cuddy put most of her weight on his foot. His voice seemed a little tight as he continued. "That's the problem, see. There's no such thing as 'one size fits all' when it comes to healthcare because drug side effects may be related to genetics. There's new research into genetics and how people respond to drugs with the view to developing drug treatments for the individual. They're always looking for funding for their research…"

"That's a good idea, don't you think Michael?" said Mrs O'Leary to her husband. The look on Cuddy's face -- priceless. She turned to glare at him, he gave his innocent 'what?' face back. Then he whimpered as the weight on his foot increased out of all proportion to Cuddy's size. He almost forgot to squeeze her rear in parity.

"Of course, if you were considering donations you shouldn't overlook those of us in the front line who actually apply that research and teach other people how to apply it."

"Naturally, after such a quick diagnosis after all these months, such clear, simple, concise advice was so welcome -- Stop taking the tablets! We'll also be making a donation..."

"Maureen…" Mr O'Leary tried to interrupt.

"To your hospital, my dear," she addressed Cuddy. "Would Dr House be my doctor from now on?"

"No!" This time he did yelp.

"Dr. House doesn't have a practice but is always available for consults should he be required." Cuddy went into charm mode. House went into fondle mode.

"Excellent. The best of both worlds. Although I appreciate Dr House's expertise and forthright manner at critical times I think I prefer a softer approach for every day use. Michael, give Dr Cuddy a cheque."

"Yes, of course," Mr O'Leary said meekly.

"Now!"

"But Maureen…" said Mr O'Leary, somewhat desperately.

"Don't but Maureen me. I know what you've been up to. Thanks to Dr House my mind is no longer addled."

The pressure on House's foot lifted. He kept his hand where it was, may even have squeezed gently before, inadvertently, moving his hand causing him to administer an action that might have been considered stroking, to Cuddy's cheeks. Whatever, it felt good to him anyway.

"I know you were only thinking of me and sweet though that may be, you'll add $20,000 to whatever you bribed Dr Cuddy with."

Cuddy held her breathe eyes glancing from one to the other. House looked on with a faux shock expression on his face.

"But Maureen…"

"Again with the 'but Maureens'. I've been married to you for fifty-nine years. I know you. So we can cut out the 'But Maureens' and get to the point where you say 'Yes, Dear' and write out another cheque."

"Did I say how glad I am to have you back to your old perceptive, acerbic self?" asked Mr O'Leary.

"Sharp tongue and mind and all?" Mrs O'Leary asked in return.

He sighed, got out his cheque book and started writing. Cuddy heard House draw breathe as if to speak. She turned to him and said quietly. "I think your work here is done."

"Are you sure?"

"You can escape now."

"But Cuddy..."

"Now." She threatened his toes with her heel.

"Spurned now you've got what you want." He could see her blood pressure rising, the sparks in her eyes, the flushed skin, the heaving chest, it was all such a turn on. It was irresistible until he spotted Mrs O'Leary's beady eye on them. That look was far too knowing. He decided on graceful retreat. There'd be other opportunities to get Cuddy looking ready for sex. Cuddy breathed a sigh of relief as he left and putting on her best donor smile she turned back to the O'Leary's where her relief was short lived when she saw Mrs O'Leary's inquisitive look. The trouble with people getting well was that they had time to be perceptive.

"He's a handful," started Mrs O'Leary.

"Two actually," admitted Cuddy.

"But he makes life interesting…"

"His methods can appear unconventional but they're rooted in a logical and rational approach." When in doubt stick to factual statements that even she, herself, could believe, thought Cuddy.

"His medical skills go without saying. I'm talking more personally," said Mrs O'Leary, not one to be taken in by donor-orientated rhetoric.

"I wouldn't know. I… We don't have a personal relationship." Still sticking to the factual statements, thought Cuddy, so what if it was a deflection.

"He'd be easier to handle if you did – I should know. Michael was just the same – no social skills, brash, arrogant, smart, lippy and yearning." She gave her husband a fond look.

"I wasn't yearning..." defended Mr O'Leary.

"You were yearning. You craved a woman's attention, a woman's touch, someone to like you for what you were – you just didn't know how to get it – not with someone who mattered anyway. You didn't have a problem with casual affairs, the ones who saw you for your money, or the ones that thought they could change you, or the ones who thought you needed fixing, or the ones who wanted to use you. But somebody who liked the hidden you despite your flaws… you had no idea how to behave. You did and said all sorts of stupid things."

"Yet I prevailed." Mr O'Leary stated smugly.

"You were still young enough not to be terrified of me knowing the real you." She turned back to address Cuddy. "Dr House on the other hand…"

Cuddy practically snorted. "House? Terrified?"

"Yes. But at the moment I'd say he was more terrified of not getting a chance. Somebody like you knows him well enough to inflict considerable hurt..." Mrs O'Leary continued in all seriousness.

"That's House's forte."

"He doesn't let people hide, I can personally attest to that. Never the less, he would be far more amenable to suggestion – so long as it's not against his principles. You have the proof in your hand."

Cuddy looked down where she held, between her fingers, the cheque that Mr O'Leary had passed to her during her conversation with Mrs O'Leary. She'd been fidgeting with it indicating a slight inner turmoil. She was not happy with this sort of conversation, especially about House, especially with people she didn't know, especially with donors.

"I hate it when she's right," Mr O'Leary came to her rescue. "You realise he didn't actually apologise?" A short lived rescue.

"But... I'm sorry…" stammered Cuddy caught off guard.

"It doesn't matter now. But he obviously considered it… for you," Mr O'Leary pressed home his wife's point.

"No. no. That's because I…"

"You bribed him? Did you really? A long drawn out protracted discussion was it? He tell you you were an idiot? That hell would have to freeze over? "

"That's what you were expecting him to do?" asked Cuddy, suddenly seeing the wheels within wheels of machinations.

"Yes."

"If you thought he would do that why did you … make the offer?" Cuddy hedged in case Mrs O'Leary still wasn't supposed to know the terms of the 'offer'.

"It's complicated, but my conscience would have been clear. You're the one who employs him."

"Right." Cuddy decided not to pursue the conversation. Donors with a clear conscience suited her just fine. "I hope that Dr House's manner won't colour your judgement should you need a medical consultation in the future. He's an excellent diagnostician. I…"

"Oh, it certainly will colour it, but not necessarily black," broke in Mrs O'Leary, cheerily. "If I thought he'd be my regular doctor I'd probably run a mile, but to know he's there and the fact that he can be called on creates a green for go colour for me."

Cuddy beat a dignified retreat while the outlook still looked good.

House had legged it or rather hopped it by the time she got down to his office She was about to write him a note to leave on his desk when her hand nudged the mouse deactivating the screensaver.


	18. The Morning after the Night before

.

A silly idea is current that good people do not know what temptation means. This is an obvious lie. Only those who try to resist temptation know how strong it is.... A man who gives in to temptation after five minutes simply does not know what it would have been like an hour later. That is why bad people, in one sense, know very little about badness. They have lived a sheltered life by always giving in -- C.S. Lewis

* * *

.

She caught him in the morning as he arrived late to work, as usual. "House!"

He winced but then boldly turned to confront her. "You have my lifetime's supply of lollipops?"

"You didn't apologise."

He looked shocked. "I said the word, you got the cheque, that sounds to me like a successful completion of our deal. You're not reneging are you?" He tilted his head in enquiry.

"That depends. Would you have apologised?

"Iiiiiii was thinking about it." He turned and continued walking towards the elevators.

"You wouldn't have done it, would you?" She followed.

"You bundled me out of there before I had a chance. I tried to explain but you told me to go." He put on his hurt, innocent expression.

"Right. You were lucky." She was completely unfazed by his argument.

"I thought I'd judged it to perfection…." He allowed himself a small smile.

"You were lucky." She repeated as they stopped outside the elevator doors.

"No. I …"

"But the clinic will remain supplied with lollipops whilst I still work here." Fun though this argument was, she needed to curtail it so they could move on to what she really wanted to talk about. However, it had been a useful warm up.

"I knew there'd be a catch." He changed to his faux exasperated look.

"Well, it was a personal agreement."

"Ahh.." His eyes twinkled as he acknowledged her winning return.

"You didn't switch off your PC last night."

"Ahh, about that. It's not what you think." There was nothing false about the panic look on his face now. He glanced at the lift doors willing them to open.

"It isn't?" She smiled at his agitation while continuing with cool, calm relentlessness.

"No, it's… for a friend…"

"A friend?" She asked casually. "You mean Wilson?"

"He's got crow's feet – it's supposed to help with that -- loosen collagen, magic your cares away… you know what a worrier he is." He deflected. How unusual.

"House anything that could help with your pain management is a good thing." She said in all sincerity.

"I've got Vicodin for that." Still deflecting and that did start to wind her up.

"And what if you start suffering from long-term use side effects? What if you go deaf? It's one of the big risk factors for long term Vicodin use and it's irreversible -- that would be worse for you than having your liver fail."

"The result would be the same." He said in all seriousness. Now she was going to get angry.

"You know they are making huge strides with tissue engineering. Vascularized skeletal muscle and nerve tissue have been grown on polyglycolic acid meshes that should be viable for transplant…"

"That work's at least ten years off." He waved his cane impatiently.

"So you just have to keep yourself alive for a decade." She persisted.

"Great, that's really something to look forward to, another decade of pain!" He snarked back.

"I'll give you time off if you try it..." She changed tack. No point backing him into a corner.

"How much time?" He asked, suddenly intrigued.

"Just matched time but you can do it when you'd normally be doing clinic hours – provided you do the full course."

"You going to pay for it too?" He wheedled.

"If it achieves a personality transformation, I might." When hell freezes over, she thought.

"Ouch! Way to stick the knife in. How about you come with me—make sure I do it. I'll need a buddy to help me through the chambers and it'll look so gay if Wilson does it…"

"Not to mention the skimpy attire worn?"

"That too. But with those very low temperatures there'll just be acres of gooseflesh, so it's not like I'm asking just because it's an opportunity to ogle."

"House…"

"Don't you two ever do anything other than negotiate?" Unheeded by either of them during their discussion the lift doors had opened to reveal the O'Learys who were on their way out of the hospital, Mrs O'Leary having been discharged. Unable to leave the lift as House was stood in front of the doors, they had watched the interesting by-play between House and Cuddy before Mrs O'Leary had interposed her comment.

"Sometimes she just shouts at me…. Actually, most of the time she just shouts at me." House moved so the O'Leary's could vacate the lift.

"And you enjoy it," stated Mrs O'Leary.

House walked into the lift and pressed the button. "Her chest heaves so... they nearly pop out… her eyes that is… as well as her breasts."

Mrs O'Leary smiled. "I've been telling all my friends about you Dr House. Several of them would like consultations…"

"Not going to happen." House interjected, confidently.

There was something suspiciously mischievous in the smile she gave him just as she turned to speak to Cuddy. "They'll be bringing their cheque books…"

"What?" exclaimed House, just as the lift doors shut on him. The last thing he saw was the mutually evil smirk Mrs O'Leary and Cuddy exchanged.

Mrs O'Leary chuckled. "You've got to admire his cheek. He certainly keeps you on your toes, Dr Cuddy or should I say you on his toes?

"Right, he's just adorable."

"Yes, he's incorrigible, but just think how you'd miss him if he weren't here."

"He's an asset to the hospital..."

"I'm sure he is..." interrupted Mrs O'Leary, smiling knowingly.

"He's high maintenance and I have a daughter to consider," blurted Cuddy, in some exasperation. She wasn't even sure why she hadn't just dodged the implied question. There was just something about Mrs O'Leary's look that made her spit it out.

"Yes, your ideally suited -- you both like attention," replied Mrs O'Leary cryptically, with which she took her husband's arm and walked off with a jaunty step, if not yet an even pace, leaving a stunned Cuddy in her wake.

* * *

Ideally suited?? Cuddy dismissed it. Put it out of her mind. Confined it to the 'not worth my time' pile. It was ridiculous, preposterous, completely unfounded. Unfortunately, the seed was sown, the seed of a particularly pernicious weed. It sprouted and grew, twisting and twining, spiralling silently and stealthily as it worked its way through little used by-ways in her mind. It crept in, clung on and thrived -- whether it was a stunning, but suffocating, strangulating, poisonous bindweed or a tender, sweet smelling, beautiful sweetpea was yet to be determined.

Had she missed something? She'd classed him as an immature, insensitive jerk who shouldn't be in a relationship. Stacy was a saint to have stayed with him for so long -- except she wasn't. And she, herself, wasn't the devil either – although that was her role according to House. She knew there was more to House than the face he presented at work. There was the odd glimpse but he hid himself well. He used to be fun. Was he still fun? Was he not as miserable as he appeared? Was he really a sensitive, mature, caring soul with a heart of gold just hiding behind his gruff, scruffy exterior? She snorted to herself, she was all for thinking outside the box, it was one of the things she admired in House, but you could take flights of fancy too far.

So back to the more logical approach. Consider recent, apparent out of character behaviour. Cheerleader? Why? What was in it for him? Bet or a woman? Had to be one of those two things. The jogging? Apply same logic… bet or a woman? Could be a bet with Wilson, trying to get him to be nice again. The non-apology apology? Bet or a woman? Bet… who with? There had been no time, unless it was all to do with being nice again. What else could have motivated him to do that? And it wasn't the lollipops. House would put being right and doing right above all else. Where did that get her? House had been right so he'd never apologise for that – although he had, sort of, in some twisted, convoluted, Housian way . That left woman. Which didn't make sense… other than her. Jogging -- her. Non-apology -- her. Cheerleader – woman. But he'd bolted when she'd almost let her guard down over the chocolate cake. Lullaby? A bet? That didn't seem likely. Non-retaliation to photoshop pictures – although there was still time for that. Desk? Definitely not a bet, so woman... Hooker. And there was the timely reminder -- again. Though her buttocks still quivered from his fondling and her lips still tingled from his kiss. He was still a self-centred, immature, self-destructive ass. She couldn't risk a relationship with him, so she was not going to cryotherapy with him. It was too dangerous. Her mind made up, she couldn't prevent the small sigh of disappointment that it had to be so.


	19. Crediting the Emotional Bank

.

Women love us for our defects. If we have enough of them, they will forgive us everything, even our gigantic intellects. -- Oscar Wilde

* * *

.

He was contemplating. Actually, he was hiding, in a janitor cupboard, in the dark Well, he didn't need light to think. He didn't seem to be making much headway with Cuddy. Not that he was out of options, he wasn't ready to admit that to himself but he was getting frustrated. He wasn't a patient man and although he was prepared for things to go slowly he needed to feel there had been some progress. If he wasn't careful he'd push too hard and screw it up irrevocably. He considered if he should let go, but she was entwined in his life. If she wasn't in it…? He needed something to knock her out of the groove she thought he fitted. Not that she was far wrong but there was wobble room.

Right House, differential. What had he learned so far? She hadn't believed the cheerleader photo, no reaction to the desk, plenty of reaction to the kiss, negative reaction to his fondling… he sighed, he had been an idiot there. Moving on… break even on the Peeping Tom incident because he hurt his leg, break even for his co-operation in the clinic for a week, maybe a couple of pluses for his playing nice with Rachel while she cooked dinner, positive reaction to the lullaby and the clown, mostly neutral response to his babysitting stint…. the over zealousness with the lullaby copying cancelled out by the photoshopped picture…. Hmmm, perhaps he could upgrade that to a positive response, there had been playfulness leaving an overall feel good factor about that. He had bolted at the chocolate cake though. He'd had to, it had been so tempting, _she _had been so tempting, but it was too soon. They weren't ready, they weren't balanced and if they were to have a snowball's chance in hell of making a relationship work they needed to be balanced before they proceeded forward. At the moment Cuddy was not thinking relationship -- she was thinking jerk not touching with a barge pole. So what else? The O'Learys and the donation… hmmm, yeah, definitively got brownie points there. Therefore negatives… three, of varying weights, positives fiveish plus he hadn't retaliated against the photo. So, on balance he should be making progress. He'd rather expected a bit more… something from Cuddy… openness, receptiveness, proximity. Was he really so far in debt to her emotional bank that he hadn't broken even yet?

He suddenly found himself blinking in the light as the door was yanked open. She'd found him. This couldn't pass without comment. What came to mind ought to get a reaction, at the very least it should piss her off. He sang.

"When she's lonely and the longing gets too much

She sends a cable comin' in from above

We don't need no phone at all

We've got a thing that's called radar love

We've got a wave in the air, radar love."

"You have a case," she retaliated.

"Nooo! I'm going home in 10 minutes."

"Yeeesss – you've been missing from action for the last 2 hours. Time for you to make up your hours. 15 year old boy paralysis of the lower limbs, nausea, blurred vision."

"He grabbed the folder and glanced through it. "Not a case I'd normally take. Pass it on to psych…" he paused, reading something a little more closely. "… or better yet pass on to the 'placate the parents dept' until next week." He handed the file back to Cuddy.

"He's not faking and you are going to treat him." She swept her arm in a signal for him to get out of the cupboard.

"Donor?" he asked, getting up.

"No."

"Friend of Big donor?"

"No – son of British Embassy staff." She shut the door behind him.

"He's still faking."

"He's not faking!"

"Wanna bet?"

She eyed him cautiously, however if it meant he'd take the case she'd go along with it. "I'll discount your missed clinic hours for this afternoon but when you find he's not faking I'll double them."

"I've already dodge the clinic hours for this afternoon, they're not on the table. Come on, Cuddy, make it interesting."

"I'll give you $100 for the correct diagnosis but subtract $10 for every half an hour you take."

"I've already diagnosed him. This is my medical opinion versus your medical opinion. It's a personal bet."

"Personal?" She wasn't sure why but she felt some inner trepidation.

"You don't want to take a personal bet?" He taunted her.

"He's not faking. I wouldn't want to take your money for nothing."

"Where's you evil spirit? Anyway, I'm not interested in money."

She sighed. If this was the quickest way to get House to see the kid, so be it. "What are you proposing?"

He appeared lost in thought for a moment. "Dinner..."

"Again? Not like you to repeat yourself."

"If you'll let me finish! Dinner, you wearing a French maid's outfit – no low hems lines, no high neck lines.

"House!"

"Well, if you are so sure he's not faking what have you got to lose?"

"Fine! When you lose you will cook dinner for me wearing just the frilly apron."

House looked stunned for a moment. She was almost smiling, smugly expecting him to back down.

"Deal!" he said, and her heart missed a beat. She calmed herself. She was sure, absolutely positive, completely and utterly convinced. They walked briskly to the patient's room.

House limped into the kid's room, put on his best faux friendly smile and went over to the set of drawers that contained medical equipment. "Hi, I'm Dr House." He opened a drawer and pulled out the biggest syringe he could find. "Are you a batter or a bowler?" he asked the boy.

"Batter," the boy responded.

"Opener?" House asked, as he rummaged in another drawer and pulled out the largest needle he could find.

"Fourth man. I also keep wicket. What's that for?" asked the boy a little warily.

"What?"

The boy pointed to the syringe in House's hand. Cuddy was looking a little concerned.

"Oh, this little old syringe with the rather large looking needle on the end? Nothing to worry about – I just need a muscle biopsy, as you are paralysed you wont feel a thing."

The boy's eyes went wide. House walked with slow, deliberate steps to the bed, he stopped briefly then whisked the blankets away and grabbed a foot. He aimed the syringe like a lance at the boy's calf. He drew his arm back…

There was a simultaneous yell of "House!" from Cuddy and a yelp from the boy who also scrabbled to the head of the bed drawing his knees up to his chest.

There were stunned looks from both the parents and Cuddy.

"A miracle," said House as he tuned to walk out. As he passed Cuddy he said "Told you he was faking – Friday okay for dinner?"

"How did you know?"

"That there'd be a miracle?" She gave him the 'answer now or I'll skewer _you_ with the syringe' look. "Sure you want to ruin the magic?" She nodded. "British embassy staff – cricket world cup week. Wrong time zone so he needs time off school to watch. Bet he did something perilously stupid like took some of his Mother's medication for her lower back pain to simulate the paralysis to begin with – she's prescribed muscle relaxants, much good they'll do her. Of course, it's worn off by now. No doubt he was hoping for a period of observation or that nobody would notice that he'd got movement back. I did say he was a stupid."

It was only later when sat in her office finishing off the paper work that the enormity of it struck her. Oh God! House! Dinner!

AN: For those who don't recognise it, the lyrics are from a song called Radar Love by Golden Earring – I don't even want to think how long ago that song first came out or that I remember when it was first released!!


	20. Decisions, decisions

.

Although every man believes that his decisions and resolutions involve the most multifarious factors, in reality they are mere oscillation between flight and longing. ~Herman Broch

* * *

.

She was thinking about it – again. Her heart lurched -- again. Normally a most reliable organ, it had been doing some very erratic things – leaping into her throat, beating quickly and arrhythmically, plummeting into her stomach. Dinner! Again! And, as if that wasn't bad enough, a French maid's outfit -- what had possessed her? There was no way he'd let her live this down. There was no way she was going to do this. There was no way she was not going to do this. God! What a dilemma. One thing was for certain, no more personal bets with House.

In the end she'd spoken to Wilson. Only to find out that House had not told him the details of the bet just that he'd conned her into cooking dinner for him again. Wilson had hummed and hawed.

"Is that hmm significant?" she asked.

"Hmm." Came back the erudite reply from Wilson.

"I'm not sure I should pay up on this bet." She walked backwards and forwards across his office.

"Hmm?" His eyes followed her. He was becoming mesmerized by her motion.

"Because… House will be an ass," she answered the implicit question.

"Hmm." He was practically in a trance.

"Can't you say anything but hmm?" She stopped in front of him, hands on hips.

"Hmm."

He got a death glare. That broke him out of his stupor. "He's always an ass. He's not trying to stop you. He's not making life any more awkward for you than he did before. He's just trying to be more… personal and… getting something out of it for himself. A double whammy that House specialises in."

"Personal? House, personal?"

"You're moving on without him and moving too fast for him to keep up. I think he's trying to hold on to your coattails so when you stop moving he knows where you are, can take a look around, orientate himself and still keep you under observation."

She looked contemplative. "Yes, but why? He doesn't want a relationship. He's not capable of a relationship! Are you saying he's trying to be friends? Because that doesn't wash either."

Why did he feel like he was always banging his head against a brick wall with these two? It was going to be so nice when it stopped. Okay, no point answering her questions head on, she'd have to work it out for herself. Until she could see it for herself she wouldn't accept it. "Do you ever notice when he looks at you?"

"It's difficult to miss! Subtle is not one of House's strong points."

"I disagree, but we'll leave that for now. I mean when he watches you?"

"He's just looking for chinks in my armour."

"Maybe. But not necessarily for the reason you think. You should watch the security cameras for the clinic yesterday afternoon."

She'd given him a perplexed look, but he wouldn't say any more. Even down right intimidation hadn't worked. And she thought House was contumacious. So she'd watched – it was interesting. She hadn't seen it at first, but as Wilson had been… insistent she rewatched. Then she noticed the pattern. Whenever she was within his sight he'd turn in her direction. He wouldn't necessarily appear to be looking at her but he was aware of her. He was Cuddytrophic. She had to admit she was intrigued. She didn't know whether it was flattering or creepy. Then she also noticed, after the nth pass of the video, that he actually stilled when he was near her, otherwise he was… restless, but when she was close, especially if he had her attention, he calmed. She didn't know what to make of it. Was he looking for weakness, error, something he could blackmail her with?

The French maid's outfit was definitely something he could blackmail her with… yet, somehow, that wasn't his usual modus operandi for manipulating her. Her in the outfit was his endgame – not that he couldn't improvise after that, but this was personal between them. How often had he blackmailed her? Frequently, during his power plays but personal stuff…? He'd teased, poked, even hurt but actually used against her? So, she hadn't reneged but here she was in front of her mirror, heart in her mouth, thumping away, second guessing herself.

Why was she doing this again? She regarded herself in the mirror and blushed. It wasn't that the outfit was any more revealing than clothes she'd worn in the past – hot pants, off the shoulder tops. The skirt was short, but it could have been shorter and it wasn't tight fitting. The low cut top showed ample cleavage but she wasn't in danger of 'popping out'... unless she did something really energetic or hung upside down. There was a small frilly cap which she couldn't decide whether it made her look stupid or cute.

Now, should she go with tights and flat shoes that a sensible, hard working maid would wear or stockings? House hadn't specified. She could make an educated guess at what he wanted – he wanted what was implied with the package i.e. sexy. So did she disappoint him or did she feed his fantasy? There was nothing here that she wouldn't wear to a fancy dress party… given the right provocation. It was just the 'idea' of what went with the French maid's outfit – saucy postcards, sexual innuendo, porn movies. This was House putting her in his own private porn movie. To be honest, enacting someone's fantasy, in the privacy of one's own home, was not beyond her either – in fact, in the right circumstances she'd be a committed, fully participating member but this was not the right circumstance.

She swithered again, just like she'd done all week. House had been smirking all week, a) that he'd won the bet b) he knew she wanted to renege c) he knew she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of her reneging so he could smirk at her prudishness and never let her forget it -- and she wasn't prudish, she wasn't. In different circumstances… if only she knew how he would play it. He'd either be a complete jerk or … he'd be a complete jerk. He'd make inappropriate comments…or he'd make inappropriate comments repeatedly. Were there appropriate comments that could be made in this situation? She sighed. She was twisting herself in knots. She mentally slapped herself, think rationally Lisa. House is a man and he has the hots for you – he should be putty in your hands… so long as you don't overplay your hand.

Okay, choose – flat shoes just to disappoint house or go with the spirit of the bet. The bell rang – decision time.


	21. Devil in the detail

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When choosing between two evils, always choose the one you haven't tried yet. – Mae West

* * *

.

She opened the door in her coat. House's face fell.

"I'm not flashing myself to the street, so come in and let me shut the door," she said, with a note of irritation. He looked down, saw the shoes, smiled and stepped into the hall.

"If you tell anybody about this I'll have your genitals on a plaque on my wall." He screwed his face up as if in deep concentration. "And I'll obtain them without anaesthetic. I don't care how many lies you have to tell Wilson or even if you have to kill him and dump his body afterwards."

"Okay," he squeaked.

She led the way into the kitchen. She couldn't decide whether to keep her back turned to him or if she should face him as she took her coat off. She'd really like to see his face but if his comment caused her to wince she didn't want him knowing how much it hurt. If she were facing him there was no doubt that he'd see any change in her expression. She mentally slapped herself again. Remember he's a man. Nonchalantly, she gently pushed the coat off her shoulders as she walked along. In a smooth movement, she allowed it to slip down her arms, caught it with the fingers of one hand and draped it over a chair as she passed. She heard a swift intake of breathe, almost a gasp and she waited for him to speak. And she waited. And she waited.

She busied herself with the dinner for which, this time, she was much more organised. She stirred the casserole and prodded the vegetables. The possibility that House might not make any comments at all had not crossed her mind. This might be worse than inappropriate comments. It was just so unlikely. He always paid attention to what she wore and commented on it -- which not many people did, her being the boss.

After several more minutes of faffing about she realized she was letting herself be cowed, so taking the bull by the horns she grab the bottle of wine and turned round. House still didn't say a word -- it was… unnerving. Finally she looked at him. He was… he looked… awestruck. He was just staring at her, eyes moving from top to bottom repeatedly, mouth slightly agape. Okay. Coyly audacious, she walked towards the table and put the bottle down in front of House. Finally, both pairs of eyes met.

He opened his mouth but no sound came out. He swallowed, tried again and sort of croaked. His eyes were dilated. She glanced down, involuntarily you understand. Was he? Oh my, yes! Well, actions spoke louder than words and that sort of auto physical response spoke very loudly to her. Sometimes, through all their fights and flirting, she forgot he was human. Now she felt more relaxed. She smirked which seemed to galvanise House into speaking. He made a spinning motion with his finger.

"Give us a twirl," he said. She gave him an exasperated look but she supposed it was only fair, so twirl she did.

"It looks good on you. A job you do in you spare time?"

She was not fazed by his jibe, a somewhat pathetic return for House – perhaps something to do with all the blood flowing south. She awarded herself extra points. "What no French tart comments?"

"I was saving those for dessert. Unless you are the French tart for dessert? He added with a leer, trying to make up lost ground.

She rolled her eyes and turned back to the oven.

"Please tell me there's meat this time," he asked, with almost a pleading note in his voice.

She looked over her shoulder and smiled.

"I could tell you that if you want, but it wouldn't necessarily be true." He groaned.

"As last time, the bet was for dinner, you didn't specify what," she continued.

"Yeah, but…"

She took pity on him. "I thought I'd stick with the French theme – it's coq au vin… and claret. Make yourself useful and open it." She pointed to the bottle in front of him. "The corkscrew is in that drawer," she said, pointing. He opened his mouth to reply.

"Don't push your luck" said Cuddy, without turning round. Perhaps he shouldn't make a comment about being waited on. He opened the wine, poured it into a couple of glasses and passed one to her.

"Must make sure the chef's well lubricated."

She accepted the glass, and took a sip. His gaze was so intense it was almost daunting. She needed to keep the upper hand. She turned to take the casserole out of the oven, bending provocatively. When she turned round she found House brushing drops of wine off his shirt. She smirked.

"How did you manage to miss a mouth as big as yours?"

"I was distracted by your humongous ass – which is considerably bigger than my mouth. We could put it to the test if you don't believe me?"

"Are you ready to eat?" Which was perhaps not quite the right question to ask after that suggestion.

"Starving," was House's reply, with a look that implied a double meaning to his response. She found herself colouring and having to remind herself that she wasn't going there again. Remember the hooker.

"Sit down and I'll bring it over," she instructed. House picked up the wine and took it to the table with him. Then he sat, leaning back, one arm draped over the back of the adjacent chair, and watched her intently as she brought the dishes to the table and served the meal. She felt more comfortable when she sat down to eat, less exposed. He still hadn't really said anything, it was rather weird.

"I think I need a new word to describe… perhaps a portmanteau word," he finally broke the silence.

"New word to describe what?"

"You. Dryad perhaps…?"

"That's not new…"

"Dry Administrator – a new meaning rather than a new word." He screwed his face up in thought. "No, that's not really the image I what to verbalise. Foxy – fetching doxy… closer, but still not right."

Her lips compressed in disdain, and she carried on eating. He let his thought processes wander freely. He stared at the ceiling as if in deep thought.

"Ludite -- luscious Aphrodite… that's so not you. Ludicrous hypocrite… accurate but not the concept I'm after."

"More like ludicrous sprite or spite," she added, drawn into the game despite herself, her competitive streak unable to let him have free rein.

"Don't be so hard on yourself." His eyes snapped down to hers, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

"I was thinking of you," she smiled, sweetly.

"Then get your own word. Bitch – butt-ugly witch… bawdy witch… hmm, not bad."

"Gremlin – great male cretin," she returned.

"That's not really a portmanteau word." He pulled his face as if disappointed.

"Sorry," she said insincerely, "You'll have to give me a bit of slack for being a beginner. Cad then – carnal dog or Pan – philandering man."

"Dragon – dangerously rabid Gorgon… hmmm, no, that's not it. Dangerously randy wanton… no, I've missed a 'g'."

"How about Cerebus -- cerebral doofus or Satyr – salacious tyro… hmm, tyro's not really you perhaps tyrant would be better." He gave her a mock smile.

"That's more you, you're the one who cracks the whip."

"But you're the randy old goat."

"I think I'll go with Gorgon…" he didn't elaborate. She waited, eating a few mouthfuls of food as if unconcerned with the conversation. However, it didn't last. She had to know.

"I hate myself. Meaning?"

"Aren't you going to have a guess?"

"What's the point? You'd just change it if I guessed correctly."

"No, I wouldn't." He actually sounded sincere. However, as it would be derogatory she was not going to give him ammunition to use against her later by effectively saying negative things about herself now. She noticed he was eating slowly.

"You don't have to eat it if you don't like it." Which seemed like a stupid deflecting gambit when she thought about it -- House eating something to be polite?

"I'm savouring it."

What? Dr. 'Inhale food don't let it touch the sides' House savouring? She looked up. There was that double meaning look again.

"It's delicious. Why wouldn't I like it?" he added. That look was what? Lascivious? Lubricious? Salacious? All three.

"I don't think there's a single one of your normal food groups in it," she said, keeping to the food theme.

"You think my taste buds are insensitive, incapable of appreciating the finer foods in life?"

"Well…"

"Chicken -- organic, corn fed. Mushrooms-- field, no doubt also organic. Onions, ditto. Lightly smoked streaky bacon, bay leaf, herbs… bouquet garni? And a soupcon of garlic for that final perfect flavour balance."

"Ohh," she was stunned – sometimes he was so abrasive, crude and such a jerk she just tended to assume he was uncouth, untutored, uncultured in all aspects of his life – shallow even -- apart from his medical prowess. So it pulled her up short when she was reminded that he wasn't. His apartment for, example full of books, pictures, antiques, knick knacks -- some of them complete tat but obviously what? keepsakes – House keepsakes? Certainly all sorts of paraphernalia of places he'd been, things he'd seen. Dozens of magazines, giving a lie to the fact he never did any work. Well stocked kitchen… she'd assumed that was a hangover from Stacy but perhaps not now she thought about it… and considering what appeared to be his diet and lack of exercise he was in a remarkably well preserved state for his age. Then there was his music… well, Mozart had been, supposedly, an uncouth and vulgar man. If there was anything to the karma view of the world no doubt that's how House's life was balanced out -- his medical genius was equalized by him being completely incompetent with more personal things. House spoke bringing her back to the present.

"You think I don't appreciate the good things in life?" He looked her up and down as he said it. She found herself blushing, again, and her heart was being unpredictable, again.

"As you run contrary to everyone else, what you consider the good things in life are probably what everybody else considers bad," she countered.

"So instead of good food, good wine, good music, good women. I like bad food, bad wine, bad music and bad women…. Okay your 25% right. Whereas for you good food, good wine, good music and good men is 25% wrong. You're attracted to bad men." He smirked, and took a swig of wine.

"Maybe, once…"she admitted, grudgingly, "but now I have a daughter, I need a good man, a reliable man."

He suddenly looked serious and took his time chewing his mouthful of casserole before swallowing.

"Good in what aspects? One who can take you to the heights of ecstasy every night?"

Once a jerk always a jerk, she thought. "No, one who likes children, would play with my daughter and wouldn't be jealous of the attention I give Rachel. One who could be relied on to be home when he says, doesn't go cruising bars, isn't selfish, puts the trash out, wouldn't complain about doing the shopping, knows how to cook, knows that clean underwear doesn't magically appear in the drawer from the hamper without human intervention and use of the washing machine…" She carried on eating as if there was no undercurrent to their conversation.

"You're not talking about a man, your talking about Wilson – he paints his nails and blow dries his hair, you could have cosmetic parties with him, too. You'd be bored within a month."

"I would not! Just because my ideal..."

"Bored!" He pointed his knife at her to emphasise his point.

"You're projecting," she said, dismissively.

"I read an article about women becoming slightly less fussy as they mature." Was this related to the conversation or was House circling the subject ready to ambush her? There was usually a reason for his apparent non-sequiturs. She ventured to follow the conversation, cautiously.

"Fussy?"

"Females mate with the first male that comes along as they get older, especially if they've been deprived from breeding when they're younger. The biological imperative makes a woman less choosy as she ages."

"That article was about mice."

"You don't think the conclusion can be extrapolated to humans?"

"Well… maybe ideals get toned down with experience. You don't think it's applicable to men, too? What's your personal experience, House? Are you more successful in the mating game now than when you were younger?"

"Can I plead the fifth?" She rolled her eyes.

"So, you're saying I should pick someone less reliable because I'm desperate?"

"No, I'm saying you'll only pick someone reliable if you are desperate."

She huffed, stood up and started collecting the dishes. She gasped as he reached out and touched her skirt. Well, the apron actually, fingering the frill between his thumb and index finger.

"This really is tiny – glad I won the bet. I certainly wouldn't have been cooking anything that involved frying wearing that."

Another non-sequitur -- a deliberate redirection? She was intrigued nonetheless.

"Would you have worn it?"

"Do you think I'd have reneged? You think I'm that unreliable?" His focus moved from the apron to her face.

"No, I…"

"Why are you so uncomfortable wearing this? The skirt's less revealing than those hot pants you wore at Uni and the top's no worse than some of the blouses you wear to work. Overall it's quite demur." He echoed her thoughts from earlier, damn him. "The seamed stockings and stilettos are a nice touch though. Looks like you could really get into role playing."

"House..." she paused, considering. "This isn't appropriate between us… I'm your boss."

"So, if I were your boss it wouldn't be a problem?" He had that tilt to his head and twinkle in his eyes that meant he was teasing. She ignored it.

"House, why are you doing this?"

"A man should live with his superiors as he does with his fire: not too near, lest he burn; nor too far off, lest he freeze -- Diogenes. I thought we were doing what we always do – playing games, winding each other up, pressing each others buttons, although I think I'd rather be undoing them." He reached forward and got his hand slapped.

"We are not doing what we always do. This has… escalated."

"You don't think this is me pushing the boundaries as usual?"

The thing was he could well be doing that and it would be within his 'bounds' of power play, and she could be getting all bent out of shape for no reason. In fact, her very reaction could well be feeding House's curiosity and she could find herself getting very embarrassed as House twigged why she was uncomfortable with it and proceeded to tease her or expose her. Better to attack first.

"You're pushing outside your usual boundaries."

"Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go. (T.S. Eliot) I'm pushing your boundaries. That's usual." If they were tigers they'd be circling each other.

"The question is, why are you pushing yours?" There was the odd swipe of a paw in the others direction, eyes raking the other in search of weakness.

"I'm well within normal parameters." Tails swished as they planned their next move.

"For what?" She wore an aura of scepticism.

"Duh! For pushing your boundaries." The tigers did a dummy rush in trying to unbalance the other.

"No, you're changing the paradigm. The bet was personal. You're getting personal."

"Don't be ridiculous…" The tigress lost patience and went for the charge.

"Which doesn't make sense because you've made it perfectly clear you don't want a personal relationship."

"Cuddy…"

"You see, even the name -- Cuddy is your boss, House is my employee. If you were trying for a personal relationship you'd be calling me Lisa and I'd call you Greg, because we'd need to differentiate between work and not work." She was agitated and building up a full head of steam.

"So if I call you Lisa we'd be in a relationship and you wouldn't have a problem wearing this?" He tried reason, in the hope of catching her in a faulty bit of logic.

"You won't call me Lisa. And even if you did and I did want a relationship with… a bad man, I'd draw the line at one with the morals of an alley cat." That caught him out.

"What?" Did we not just establish I like the finer things in life?"

"Yes, apart from women."

"Hey, don't do yourself down."

"You're not denying you want a relationship?" She poked him just because.

"I…" he started to reply but she waved him off.

"It doesn't matter. Don't bother lying. I saw you with the girl with the tattooed arms."

"What girl with tattooed arms?" House was genuinely puzzled.

"I came to thank you for the desk. You were… occupied… I didn't interrupt."

"What are you tal… Oh, you mean DeeDee? The thespian, the one I used to scam Taub and Kutner – the one... ahh." The one that owed him three hours. Shit! Well, that explained the non-response to the desk. Still, why hadn't Cuddy just interrupted? If she'd been gearing herself up to thank him for the desk then why didn't she just do it? She was confident enough and assertive enough to have walked into his office when DeeDee was there. She should have been beside herself in glee at the opportunity to get her own back. Failing that, she could have brought the subject up later but she didn't.

Okay, so an hour before he'd screwed up big time, when she'd taken control of the conversation, tried to steer it in the direction she wanted, but not actually committed herself. He still wasn't sure whether she viewed him as anything other than an asset to the hospital, his usual fears had surfaced, consequently he'd misread and mishandled the situation… literally and figuratively. But she'd come to thank him after this, so the desk had trumped the earlier jerk response – which was good to know, he thought he'd completely missed the mark there but obviously not.

However, since then she'd seemed so composed and controlled, so resigned and… remote. So not angry. Initially, he'd found her attitude a bit odd but if he put the two events together maybe it made more sense. Morals of an alley cat… so Cuddy obviously thought DeeDee was a hussy at best or a harlot at worst. Therefore, on a personal level, she shouldn't have found her a threat. But she obviously did. So that meant… what? The desk really meant something… Cuddy sees him with hooker equals... hmm, coming up blank. Desk's a positive, Cuddy sees him with another woman… that meant… she was hurt? She was hurt so she had pulled back. Total avoidance of the subject – yes, he understood that behaviour only too well. He also understood that this was a bigger screw up than his fondling in the office. She was irrevocably set against him. No wonder she was calm, cool and collected, her mind was made up. He was laid out on the relationship morgue table as far as Cuddy was concerned. In fact, he was probably embalmed, incinerated and buried six feet under. Although, that meant she cared for him other than just as an asset, right? Well, had cared for him.

But something still didn't add up. Why on earth would she be hurt by a hooker when they weren't actually in a relationship? Even if she was seriously thinking about starting a relationship with him, there was no reason for Cuddy to feel threatened by a hooker. In a relationship, yes, she'd expect exclusivity, but outside she surely realised that it was just a distraction, a release. Unless her trust issues were more serious than he realized. She'd never been brilliant with relationships but…trust… everybody lies… there was something he was missing. And he couldn't work on his resurrection miracle without more information.

"You thrive on conflict, why didn't you just barge in? It was an opportunity for you to get your own back for me interrupting your dates."

He was subjecting her to the blue laser stare, the one that indicated he was focusing on something, chasing down some elusive point that he thought would lead to an epiphany. Nevertheless, she maintained her cool.

"That would have been childish," she replied, placidly.

"Not in the games we play, it would have been rather a neat move in fact… especially if you thought she was a hooker, it would have been an exquisite irony – you'd have been using up valuable time I'd paid for. There's something more here…"

"The games '_you_' play. There's nothing more than a respect for your private life. I know this is a strange concept for you so don't try to understand it, just accept it."

"Nooo, you're dodging." He paused, thinking. She had that exasperated look on. She was about to speak when House interjected. "What happened between you and Llyn?"

"What?" The shock on her face should have been a warning but he was curiously unaware when it came to his own safety.

"Well, there you were hurtling for the altar faster than I could dial a hooker. Then it was all over. I know you ride 'em rough but you don't normally break them that quickly."

"None of your business." The controlled clipped tone was another warning that House just breezed through.

"He cheated on you, didn't he? Well, a name like Llyn what could you expect but a loser."

"Get. Out." Her eyes flashed daggers. If looks could kill he be dead – hung, drawn, quartered, crucified, flayed, incinerated, emasculated, decapitated, impaled, and struck with a plague of boils… with maybe a bit of electrocution on the side.

He looked stunned. Well, he'd touched a nerve there. There as a heavy silence… Rachel started crying.

"Leave now!" said Cuddy, with one last blistering look in his direction before she turned heading for the nursery.

My turn to be saved by the wail, thought House. He gave her long enough to get to Rachel before he moved.

"I'm not going until I've had dessert," he called, loudly. He'd screwed up again but he wasn't going until he'd done some damage control this time. Sometimes he wished he could just keep his mouth shut but he just got lost in the analysis and forgot. He opened the fridge door – Ooo, chocolate mousse!


	22. Mistake, misunderstood, misstep

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"I'm just a soul whose intentions are good; Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood!" --The Animals

* * *

.

When Cuddy came into the kitchen ten minutes later he was happily eating. One step into the kitchen and she stopped. He could see her blood pressure rising from where he was sat.

"I've been having your cake and eating it," he said, round a spoonful of mousse, pre-empting her tirade.

"Which bit of get out did you not understand?" Well, maybe not.

"I understood it, just ignored it. If I hadn't I would have missed out on this chocolate mousse which would have been criminal… I heated the milk for Mo..." he screwed his face up as he caught himself, "Rachel." He opened an eye in the hope she'd let that pass – although in the mood she was in…

She looked at him very suspiciously but went to pick up the bottle. She felt it.

"Pre-program 1 on your microwave. That's the correct setting, isn't it?"

"Thank you," she said, reluctantly. He noted the jeans and baggy, bum-covering jumper.

"I see you slipped into something more comfortable."

"The bet's finished."

"No it's not, I'm still eating dessert – this is delicious, too." He paused savouring the taste. "Rum, yes?

She nodded, sat down and started feeding Rachel. House leaned over the table with a spoonful of mousse. Cuddy stared at him, he felt the knife twist in his guts. Undeterred, he drew the spoon back and made aeroplane noises and moved the spoon back to her mouth. She looked at him askance.

"Come on, Cuddy, I haven't got cooties and whatever germs I've got we exchanged a few weeks ago and lived to tell the tale." She didn't budge. He sighed "I'm sorry. You know what I'm like. I get an idea in my head and run with it until I hit the brick wall or hurtle over the edge of the cliff… I'm sorry."

Her mouth dropped open, possibly in shock at the apology and House seized the opportunity to shove the spoon in. She swallowed and licked her lips – it had been a large spoonful, House never doing things by halves, while giving him a look… that was hard to describe. Somewhere between shock, hate and murder was his best guess.

"Was that a genuine apology, or just an asshole way of getting your own way?"

He looked down, looked away, then looked back at her. "I have this overwhelming urge to deflect, but I suspect that would ring my death knell."

"Self-destruct button temporarily out of order? Unless you have an overwhelming desire to experience auto erotic asphyxiation right now, if I don't detect the truth, I am going to strangle you," she said, smiling dangerously.

"As you're holding the baby, that's going…" He saw her hit flashpoint and finally some sense of self-preservation kicked in. He held up his hand. "It was genuine," he said, sharply, then more quietly and calmly. "It was genuine." There was a few minutes silence, apart from the suckling sounds coming from Rachel. Cuddy looked down at her and smiled. House let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding and had another spoonful of mousse. It looked like the chance of immediate departure from the world had passed, plus it looked like he'd managed to diffuse his cock up from earlier.

"You weren't expecting to have any of this left were you?" He asked, airily.

"No, but I was expecting to share."

"What more than one mouthful?" he looked shocked.

"Yesss!"

He looked into the bowl, gauged how much was left then looked at her.

"Are you sure? Just think of all those calories and those curves of yours." She gave him an evil look.

"Oh, all right. I suppose it is unwise to come between a woman and her chocolate especially when she's… already riled." He said, rapid changing it from any reference to menstrual cycle which would be like a red rag to a bull right now. And it's just as well he'd had that thought to himself, too!

"At any time, and it would be a very brave man or a very stupid man who made that sort of comment. So which are you?" Ahh, that hadn't got passed her then.

"Lucky?" He hazarded round another mouthful of mousse.

"It amazes me that you've survived so long."

"I have a guardian angel." He passed over another spoonful of mousse.

"By share, I didn't mean three spoonfuls for you and one for me," she griped.

"I'm twice your size, so need more and I'm in control of the spoon – I'm just thinking of your ass." Another evil look. "Okay. Share. Got it."

"Put some in a bowl for me."

"You've got both hands occupied. I promise not to let any slip down into your cleavage, not that you're showing any at the moment but take the generic 'I won't let it slip'." He proffered another spoonful. She rolled her eyes, but swallowed the mousse anyway.

"I think you're obsessed with my menstrual cycle," she stated.

"Are you joking? It's a survival mechanism."

"You think I'm more aggressive? You're giving yourself bigger spoonfuls!"

"No, more naggy. It's the same spoon for both of us."

"So what's your excuse? But you're heaping it more for you."

"I'm in pain all month every month. You really are a Gorgon with those evil looks of yours." There was a note of affection in his voice as he said this last sentence. Not that Cuddy could recognise it and as her head was down, looking at Rachel, she didn't see the softening round his eyes, so she was clueless.

"That's not hormonal and you have Vicodin to control that," she said, dismissively.

"Of course it's hormonal. Pain triggers adrenalin and cortisol. Adrenalin is part of the fight or flight response. I can't run so…"

"Right. It would also explain anxiety, insomnia, irritability, anger, fear, hostility aggression, frustration, impotence… and let's not forget that the same chemicals are released in the body for pain as for depression. The biochemical response to emotional pain is similar to physical pain and creates depression and anxiety. Negative feelings hinder healing, contribute to a sedentary lifestyle, poor diet, being miserable..."

"Vicodin controls the pain sufficiently that…" he interrupted.

"But for how long?" she interrupted back. "Apart from the other side effects, Vicodin reduces electrical current from pain signals but there's no discrimination, it reduces electrical current throughout the brain and body. Constant use can eventually damage the brain, change its structure and function. There's decreased activity of dopamine and serotonin. Low serotonin activity causes overactive limbic system resulting in the brain becoming more sensitive to pain. Low dopamine activity leads to an underactive pleasure centre, depression develops, resulting in the brain becoming more sensitive to pain. Stop me if you see a pattern here. Opiate use reduces testosterone deficiency causes bone loss, muscle loss, fat gain…"

"Which is obviously a bigger problem for you than for me," he tried to distract her from the topic. She carried on regardless.

"…Higher cholesterol levels, insulin resistance, increased risk of heart attack and stroke, weak immune system, decreased libido…"

"My libido is still firing on all cylinders!" he interjected.

"Memory loss… Is this what you're prepared to risk? Your greatest asset. The one thing you seem to care about. You really would be an addicted idiot if you were ready to lose that." House was ready to deflect, disguise, deceive using his best snark to do it but he caught himself. Okay, so he'd hit a nerve with Llyn and she was trying to hit a nerve back… except… something else he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"What's got into you? See this is why I like to know things, then I don't step on emotional landmines."

"You think I'm bringing this up now because you brought Llyn up?"

"Aren't you?"

"Antidepressants are now prescribed in addition to analgesics to reduce chronic pain. They alleviate pain when administered in dosages smaller than normally used for treating depression. Why haven't you tried them?"

"They cloud my judgement."

"Have you tried them in the dosages recommended at the prescribed times?" she persisted. As far as House was concerned, antidepressants were mind altering drugs and he wasn't going there, which was ironic considering other things he tried and done. He hadn't tried them, except when Wilson slipped them to him, and had no intention of trying them.

He had, in fact, seen the latest research on the effect of long term Vicodin use on the brain and it had worried him. He just didn't want to admit it to Cuddy, or anyone else for that matter. He had been investigating alternative pain management regimes including the cryotherapy that Cuddy had mentioned. However, methadone looked like being the best possibility for him – quick fix fulfilling his instant gratification requirements, no withdrawal to go through which was a big plus. There were those nagging mortality stats usually caused by carelessness which gave him pause but he did need to do something about the Vicodin. However, if he used methadone he was not going to tell Cuddy… or Wilson, they'd both have some very scornful, scathing and pertinent remarks he'd rather not hear.

The more immediate worrying thing was the undercurrent to Cuddy's train of thought that he was sensing.

"This isn't like you. You're deliberately trying to provoke an argument. Why?"

"Why should I answer that, when you haven't answered my why?" he should be proud of her, she was playing him at his own game. He was more worried.

"What why? Which why?" He dodged whys by reflex-- and he couldn't remember what the last one was!

"Why are you doing this?" House momentarily stalled until he realised that was the why question she was referring to.

"Why wouldn't I do it?" She huffed a resigned laugh, and shook her head. Rachel had finished drinking and she got up to take her back to the nursery. "Dessert is finished. You can go now," she said, over her shoulder as she walked away.

"No coffee? Mints?" House followed her as she went to change Rachel and put her back down.

"Are you trying to extend your visit? Your usual MO is to avoid me at all costs."

"No just trying to get the most out of my bet, and piss you off for a bit longer, and change my tactics. The olds ones were getting predictable. Why you got somewhere to be? Hot date later tonight?

"No, just trying to avoid the next game you're planning for my humiliation and embarrassment," she said, with an air of resignation. He was surprised.

"You think that's what this was about?" he asked, puzzled.

"What else is there where you and I are concerned?" she said, flatly. She wasn't looking at him, concentrating on changing Rachel.

"Just us playing games," he answered, simply while watching her closely.

"What?" Now she looked up. "As in just hanging out? Making friends? Spending quality time together?"

"Well…" his brain scrambled about trying to get a hold on what was bugging Cuddy without giving himself away.

"I thought so."

"Are you saying you were embarrassed? You've never been embarrassed about your body. You keep it in great shape, considering what you've got to work with. Why wouldn't I play games and have the pleasure of a private showing? You'd have taken as much delight if I'd lost the bet. I just get the better body to look at."

"It was a mistake." She had her back to him as she put Rachel in her cot. He hated not being able to see her face.

"What? Taking the bet?"

"Yes."

"Why?" He was still puzzled as to where she was going with this.

"Because you drag me into things as some sort of power play with humiliation as your ultimate goal. You've done it at work and now you're bringing it into my home."

"This was not about your humiliation," he said, seriously. "I admit I sometimes initiate power plays, but your humiliation is not my ultimate goal, although, sometimes, yes, it is a bonus."

"You have to control everything." She turned to look at him now, an intense look on her face.

"Me? Pot, kettle. You do exactly the same."

"I do not," she said, indignantly.

"Yes, you do. You try to control me. I try to control you. I expect you to fight back. I expect you to use all the weapons in your armoury to try to win, and that body of yours is a grade one missile – and you know it. I've seen you schmooze donors, manipulate male heads of department, get free drinks and plenty of free meals with that body of yours, so don't pretend that wearing a French maid's outfit was humiliating and embarrassing for you because it wasn't."

"You don't think I would find wearing a French maid's outfit for an employee embarrassing? You wouldn't find wearing the French maid's apron for one of your employees embarrassing?"

"We're talking about us here and now, not at work. This was a personal bet."

"Personal bet… so why the personal bets all of a sudden?" She moved towards him. He was momentarily without a response – just momentarily you understand, any second now he'd think of something. Unfortunately, Cuddy was being rather relentless.

"Cat got your tongue?" She was up close and personal now. Staring intently at his face – just like when she told him they should kiss now. House desperately tried to think of something to say that wouldn't screw it up this time.

"All this personal stuff. Anybody would think you were trying to get personal, perhaps trying to worm yourself into my private life, but as you keep saying you don't want a relationship, I can only conclude…" she said.

"Actually, it's you that keeps saying."

"So, you want a relationship?" There she went trying to pin him down again.

"What if I did?" He returned. He was squirming inside but he tried to hold his nerve.

"Then you would invite me out, because…" she paused.

"…that would be the normal thing to do?" he finished for her.

"Are you saying that this has been your version of dating?"

"Well…" His face reflected wryness.

"You didn't think to let me in on this plan…?"

"Well…" He tried to look contrite.

"You've got some screwed up sense of relationship development."

"And what would we do on a date, Cuddy? We've known each other for over 20 years, what could we possibly find out about each other on a date? It would be stilted, and forced and awkward. This is what we do."

"No, this is what you do. If we went on a date and we couldn't talk to each other and find points of interest outside of work so it was stilted, and forced and awkward then, maybe, that's a clue we shouldn't continue. What's my favourite colour, favourite flower, movie, book, play, music, food, ice cream?"

"I know that…"

"You probably do," she interjected, "but I don't know it about you!"

"These things are important are they?"

"It's the little things that intertwine relationships together. I know this is difficult for a man to understand but small things matter. Small things add up. The devil is in the detail. Aren't you always telling me that? Small gestures can be just as meaningful as extravagant ones. Normally, it's attention to details that guys miss, making the fatal mistake of not noticing things, missing the hair cut or the new dress. However, observation is not your problem. I guess it's the small talk and actions that trip you up. If you can't demonstrate that you can be** trusted in the small things****,** then there's no gradual building of confidence for a relationship to flourish."

"Isn't finding ways of getting the information and actions you need part of the fun?" he asked, cautiously.

"Not with you. House, avoiding 'trivial questions' is a sport to you…" He smirked. "… and you never open up." His face fell.

"How do you know?"

"I've known you over 20 years and I don't know your favourite colour, whether you ever had a pet – apart from the rat and Wilson, what your favourite piece of music is – the second love of your life."

"I think I'm still stuck in the emotional minefield and it doesn't matter which way I step I'm going to lose another leg."

"Well you got yourself there, you get yourself out," she said, unsympathetically.

"But you tempted me in, you could at least give me a clue as to which direction is out."

"Back's good, you do back so well." She stopped herself, then sighed before she continued. "You don't think of the consequences of your actions, although you're right, Llyn did cheat on me, and it's not something I'm prepared to repeat or risk again. And I understand that this may be an area of your life where you don't take risks either. But being untrustworthy and manipulative is not the way to start a relationship. I been a fool with you twice, House, there wont be a third time. I expect to be friends with someone I'm in a relationship with, I'd expect any long-term partner to be my best friend, someone who I can confide in, who confides in me, who isn't a selfish, ego-centric, curmudgeonly, miserable cynic. I don't think that you think you can be friends with a woman. I'm not sure you should be in my life let alone my child's'. I don't want Rachel to get to know you then you lose interest. So, I think you should go back to your usual MO, just do your job, stop meddling in my life."

House's briefly turned his head to the side while he masked the hurt. He hadn't needed to make a misstep out of the minefield, it had been set to automatically explode.

"Okay," he said, quietly.

"House…?"

"I've got it. Usual MO, complete avoidance, I understand," he said, as he limped to the front door, he opened it and stepped out but then paused, half turned.

"In the spirit of openness, I never cheated on Stacy. Good-bye, Cuddy."

And he was gone leaving a stunned Cuddy standing in her hall. He'd gone. He'd actually gone. That's what she wanted, what she needed. But she'd seen the flash of hurt in his eyes before he turned his head. Perhaps she'd been a bit harsh but he'd brought Llyn up and if ever there was a raw nerve that was it. Besides, he was _**not**_ a suitable role model for a child… except … except he was surprisingly good with young patients and he did have that 'boyishness' about him that appealed to children. Given the right motivation he might make a good father, reluctant but good. However, as for relationship material…

He'd been trying to date her… date was not quite the right word but what the right word was she had no idea, so date would do for now. In some strange and twisted way Greg House had been trying to date her… how… what? Gratifying? And his parting statement, what was that for? There were so many options. To tell her she was wrong about him, that she didn't know him as well as she thought she did? That he could be true to a woman? That he could be true to someone he loved…?

House could love – she'd heard him say it to Stacy. She'd forgotten that – just before they put him into a coma – just before they crippled him for life. Was it any wonder that his associations with love were not entirely positive, so he was averse to thinking in those terms? Was Stacy more important/ significant/ liked than her? Not that she should be wasting time thinking about that, she was not having this argument with herself again. She'd just kicked him out of her life – well, personal life and he'd… what? Reached out or tried to make her feel guilty? Well, the latter was House all over. There was no way he'd go for complete avoidance. He'd dream up a bigger and better power play to pull her into his orbit, so she'd have to go to see him. He'd then make some facetious comment about how she couldn't stay away from him and things would go back to normal. Well, as normal as things got between them. She couldn't have been more wrong.


	23. Literal translation

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There are only two tragedies in life: one is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it. – Oscar Wilde

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.

She should have spotted it when he was on time for work – she was just relieved he wasn't sitting at home to challenge her. There'd been just that tiny shadow of doubt, because she remembered that he'd actually said good-bye and not goodnight, that he might just walk out of her life… again. She should have known something was wrong when he didn't come pestering her for insane procedures and there were no complaints from the clinic but she was too wrapped up in other hospital duties and fitting Rachel into her life to notice. It was only after a week had gone by that she realised she hadn't seen him at all. Two weeks and he really was avoiding her. Three weeks and she was waiting with some trepidation for the big gotcha. Four weeks still nothing and she was… uncomfortable with it.

They'd never passed in the corridor so he had to be avoiding her. He was taking cases, referrals mostly, so there was no reason to go and see him. The fact that they were easy cases for him, often only took a day or two to resolve and that was mostly spent waiting for test results, because he wasn't pushing his team to expedite the procedures, was telling. He'd never have touched them with a barge pole under normal circumstances, so he must be bored out of his mind. He sent a minion when he needed something signed. He deliberately avoided her in the clinic. Eventually, she'd intentionally lingered at the nurse's station to see what he would do. He hadn't said anything, hadn't even looked in her direction, let alone got into her personal space. Nothing, no comments on her, her administration, her body, her clothes – nothing. Four weeks with nothing. Her cup should have been overflowing with joy – she hated it.

He was also in more pain than usual – she saw it, saw him taking more Vicodin and what was worse, she knew full well that was partly due to his emotional state – and she hated herself.

Now she'd had time to think, she realized that House had been worming his way into her personal life for weeks, carefully feeling his way. The man had been reaching out to her and she'd slapped him down – hard – then stuck the boot in -- to someone she knew struggled to make emotional connections. She'd done it out of fear and insecurity. He'd done it out of fear and insecurity. She couldn't trust him… he couldn't trust her. It wasn't that she thought that what she had done was wrong, just that there might have been a more tactful way to do it – dare she say it, a less destructive way to do it. Hard as it was to think about, tempting though it was to say 'After all she'd done for him', she'd started to feel guilty. After all the things he'd said to her over the years… she'd like to think they balanced out, but they probably paled into insignificance. Now she was reaping the consequence of her own actions. He must hate her. He'd never forgive her.

Wilson noticed of course. Not immediately, as House had always been subject to seeking solitude to think or brood or sulk or whatever. At first he thought it was the case he was on. But it became obvious that's not what was making House practically a hermit. He noticed that House had pulled back from his usual interactions with Cuddy. What was probably less noticeable was that Cuddy had pulled back from House. With her usual involvement in the hospital, her normal work load plus a baby it probably wasn't noticeable to most people, but Wilson saw it. What he was more concerned about was that House was withdrawing from the world again.

"What did you screw up?" Wilson confronted House in his usual fashion.

"Apart from life, the universe and everything?" was House's depreciating reply.

"Don't play dumb. You and Cuddy. You're not indulging in your usual brand of courtship by heckling her in the clinic, in fact, you're not avoiding clinic. You're skipping work but not in your usual fashion. You're skipping lunch, breakfast other opportunities to inveigle money out of me by not going to the restaurant. So, I repeat, what did you screw up?"

"Nothing." Wilson drew breathe to complain but House continued. "Apparently, I screwed up before I started."

"Screwed up what? Did you… did you ask Cuddy out?" Wilson asked with sudden insight.

"Don't be ridiculous," House blocked, but Wilson was not easily put off once on the scent.

"But you… you conned her into going on a date?" was Wilson's next guess.

"Not exactly."

"You didn't leave her to pay?" asked Wilson, looking surprisingly appalled

"Which bit of there was no date did you not understand? Leave it alone, Wilson."

"So what went wrong?" Wilson persisted.

"Which bit of leave it did you not understand?" said House, irritably.

"You conned her into something, she sussed you, and jumped to the wrong conclusion?"

"She didn't jump to the wrong conclusion."

"You conned her?"

"What are you a terrier? It wasn't really a con." House pulled various faces as he hedged.

"But she sussed you?"

"Yes," House admitted.

"And?"

"And I'm here, she's there and never the twain shall meet," he gesticulated with his hands to emphasise the amount of space between them.

"You never give up," said Wilson, firmly.

"So you think I should ignore what Cuddy wants?" asked House with slight interest. Wilson did have a way of ingratiating his way into women's lives. He just couldn't stay there.

"You usually do. You said you always consider Cuddy's needs." Wilson was beginning to wonder exactly what Cuddy had said to have made House back off this far.

"She needs someone, she wants someone. She doesn't want me. Except as a hospital asset… possibly?"

"Possibly?" The thought of Cuddy not wanting House at the hospital was almost an anathema to Wilson. This might be screwed up worse than he thought.

"It's possible she's rethinking that right now," said House, with a slight worried frown.

"Fix it," said Wilson, as if it was the easiest thing in the world.

"I can't."

"Yes, you can," insisted Wilson, thinking that House just didn't want to admit he was wrong.

"No, I can't. Cuddy stopped it. She'd have to restart it."

"She's a woman," said Wilson, as if that explained everything.

"You don't say? I wonder how I missed the clues? She's my boss," said House, as if that explained everything.

"You have to grovel. Admit it's all your fault. Say you're really, really sorry. It won't happen again. Get on your knees. Whatever it takes," Wilson clarified.

"That's worked so well for you and your three marriages. Grovelling's not going to help."

"Confucius say 'when at bottom of deep, dark hole stop digging'. But you – you just have to do something, so you keep digging. Be nice to her, invite her out properly. Men, to women, are a project. They don't see a finished article, they see the potential – they can knock through here, lick of paint there, until they get what they want."

House shook his head. "Give it up Wilson. Your romantic little heart is just going to have to accept that wining and dining is not going to change this. She doesn't think I'm structural sound enough to be taken on as a project. Cuddy was specific and decided -- professional relationship only, no personal stuff."

"Ohh," said Wilson."

"Precisely," said House.

Wilson tried Cuddy. "You slept with House."

"Oh yes, slotted it right in between the three people from accounting, late night feeds and the breakfast budgetary control meeting," she replied, dismissively.

"I'm going off what you said before, about the flirty hostility and you end up not speaking to each other for two months. As you are in the not speaking to each other phase, I conclude you must have slept with him." It sounded like a good opening argument to him.

Cuddy looked surprised. "What makes you thing we're not speaking?" she asked, cautiously.

"Because… you're not."

"We're not in the not speaking phase," said Cuddy, depressively, realising that Wilson was fishing.

"You're not?" probed Wilson, sceptically.

"No," said Cuddy, decidedly.

"So, you're not speaking because…?" Wilson persisted. Cuddy usually caved and gave him something, even if it was only a token.

"Our schedules haven't coincided."

"Really?" Wilson was beginning to understand that House maybe hadn't been pessimistic just realistic.

"Really." Cuddy certainly sounded firm and… closed off.

"Well, House is in a very dark place. I hope you know what you are doing? By the way, House said that Dr Hacker is scheming again and you should watch your back." Cuddy just looked unconvinced and dismissive.

"Dr Hacker's been trying to get my job since before I got it. He never succeeds. It's almost become a running joke."

"I know, but it's not like House to say anything…"

"He's just being Machiavellian," she interrupted, then walked off leaving an apprehensive and troubled Wilson behind.

Meanwhile, House was brooding. Professional relationship only is what she'd asked for, whatever that was. He didn't think that's what she really wanted or needed but he took her literally. He didn't look at her unless he had to. He made no comments on her clothes. He didn't get in her personal space. He did the bare minimum in the clinic so he didn't have to confront her. He took boring, obvious cases, so he wouldn't have to consult her about unconventional tests, wouldn't have her coming to convince him to take a case. He drank too much. His leg hurt more than usual. He popped way too may Vicodin. He snarled at everyone.

He didn't know what else to do. He wanted to do something, but he had no idea what. He'd got so far he didn't want to give up, but he'd been firmly rebuffed with the same effect of a rolled up newspaper on a puppy's nose. He was careful to stay on her radar, on the outskirts of it but not under it; otherwise she would come looking for him and he didn't want that, until he'd analysed, re-analysed and triple analysed – basically, until he'd found a way round the line in the sand she'd drawn. Whether she really didn't want him in her life or was just freaking out, drawing attention to himself for the wrong reasons was definitely not the way forward. If he was just an asset to her hospital, and she'd played the game to help keep him in line, he could understand that now she had Rachel she wouldn't want him 'corrupting' a minor with his dark, cynical existence. Not that most kids weren't screwed up by their parents in one way or another.

He reached for his tennis ball and tried to spin it on the end of a finger. He thought about what she'd said. Meddling in her life – so that was both private and professional. Didn't need or want him in her life. He didn't think that was true – it wasn't the stumbling block. It was some other test… or tests, knowing Cuddy, which he was failing. He wouldn't be surprised if she was making them up as she went along.

Consequences of your actions – he'd always been like that. It was part of what made him, him. To some extent his disregard for the consequences to himself when seeking to do what was right, was something she admired – drove her crazy, but she still admired it. In fact, she planned for it – taken out insurance for when she couldn't stop him doing insane things. He wondered if he was still under budget. So maybe she was a bit wary of that behaviour around a child, but, again, he didn't think it was too much of a stumbling block. He started bouncing the ball off the wall.

Untrustworthy and manipulative is not the way to start a relationship – hmm, maybe not to conventional people but lying and manipulation were like foreplay to them. It was a game, trying to out think the other. It was interesting and… addictive. He would have thought that she would have appreciated the indirect approach. The House and Cuddy playing games not dating at all façade being projected to the rest of the world. The let's see how compatible we are before anyone else finds out approach. So maybe he should have clued her in a bit more, but he was trying to protect them both at the time – okay, himself mostly, but she would understand the rational behind that. Anyway, he still didn't think it was a stumbling block… well, stumbling maybe, but it wasn't the pit of spikes.

Cheating, morals of an alley cat – okay, his track record wasn't exactly squeaky clean there, so she did have a point and how did he convince her otherwise? Clean living and a blameless existence – and for how long would he have to do that? She'd known him for over 20 years would it take him another 20 to undo the first 20? He probably didn't have that long to live, he certainly didn't have the patience. She was obviously sensitised to cheating significant others, not surprising she associated loose living and cheating together. All the comments he'd made over the years, probably not an endearing characteristic and she just thought he was jerking her around, which was partly true of course. It was a good way of hiding his attraction. He didn't want her having an edge over him. Although she'd always seemed to just accept him for what he was – she just didn't want him near Rachel like that.

Male role model for Rachel… he couldn't consider himself as father material so it was hardly surprising that Cuddy couldn't either. Brutal honesty hadn't done much for him as a kid, so it was hardly likely that his brand of honesty would be useful as a role model for a child. He recalled the girl who's 'mother' had taught her to always tell the truth to justify the big fat lie that she wasn't the kid's mother, that a drug-addict was and she was never going to tell her daughter. It had seemed callous when the kid had said it wouldn't be alright – 'No, Mom. You're dying. Nobody can help you. It's not going to be okay.' He'd told Wilson, 'Pure truth. She told her mother that she was dying. Stripped her of all hope.' Was that a good way to bring kids up? Whatever he thought Cuddy wouldn't think so. And, yes, the prospect of him doing the everyday things that kids needed was a bit remote. Although kids were supposed to be remarkably resilient… if they knew they were loved… and therein lies the rub. He was hardly the epitome of sunshine, hope and optimism. Not renowned for his hugs, kisses and affection. Not the best at giving positive feedback. So, she had another point.

Friends? _**Friends**_? Had he been Stacy's friend? They'd done things together hadn't they? Golf, movies, eaten out, eaten in, watched the TV, pulled pranks on each other… okay he'd pulled pranks she'd rolled her eyes. He'd known her favourite colour, favourite flower, movie, book, play, music, food, ice cream. He hadn't done much with that information even though he knew it. Had she known his? Well, that information had come out over the years. At least he thought it had. She'd have struggled with his favourite flower – he'd struggle with his favourite flower but the other stuff… at the very least she could have had a good guess. And she hadn't known that before she moved in. She hadn't known much about him at all before she moved in.

Did Wilson know that sort of thing about him? Did he know this stuff about Wilson? Actually, Wilson probably did have a favourite flower and he didn't know what it was. But guys didn't need to know this stuff to be friends, did they? They just hung out, chatted about girls, monster trucks, went bowling, just did things they liked doing. Was that spending quality time together? They just were… friends. You couldn't leer at other girls if you were with a girl unless they were 13 or not interested in you. But friends were people who knew your flaws but accepted you for what you were, so if you were a leerer and your girl was a friend she'd understand you were just enjoying the view… because leering wasn't touching. But by extension if you were a toucher and your girl was a friend she'd understand you were just enjoying the feel. You see that's where it all broke down because he'd not have a problem with his girl looking, so long as it wasn't persistent, good art was meant to be looked at even if the artist was nature… or a surgeon, but touching…? Well, some art was meant to be touched, interacted with so if the logic held… but it didn't. He wouldn't like his girl touching -- friend or not, although if it was a quick peck on the cheek to Wilson that would be alright, or to a member of the family, an old friend, an old flame…!!!!!! These social interactions really were a bit complicated… for him anyway… perhaps Wilson knew. He'd come back to that.

So hanging out, what else did friends do? Where was his dictionary, what was the definition of friend. He couldn't reach his dictionary from where he was but his computer was to hand. He put his ball down and searched online for definitions of friend. 1. A person you know well and regard with affection and trust 2. a person who gives assistance; patron; supporter: _friends of a symphony orchestra_ 3. a person who is on good terms with another; a person who is not hostile.

Hmm, not looking good. A person you know well – check. Regard with affection – well, there were certain parts of her he was very fond of and he'd certainly like to be on better terms with them but regard Cuddy with affection – the warm fuzzes? Weeeell, he often had warm wet feelings for Cuddy did that count? Okay, he'd have to come back to that. Give assistance – there's a laugh, patron – okay passing over that. Next – on good terms, not hostile. Hostility was part of their relationship and he thought it added rather than subtracted from their interactions, but by the definition it didn't seem to make them friends. Perhaps as well he didn't do things by the book because arguing with Cuddy certainly made him pause for consideration (sometimes), he relied on it. It pushed him to be more rigorous in his thinking to try to out argue her, if he couldn't do that then it made him think again if there was another way. Sometimes there wasn't and he circumvented her. She relied on that no matter she protested afterwards -- that was just part of the show. She trusted him to have the patients' best interests at heart, didn't she? More recently certainly, and usually he did – or was it the puzzle? He covered with the puzzle but when it came to the crunch getting the patient to live was the important thing.

He was missing something. Back to the computer, there was bound to be some psycho… amateur philosopher somewhere who'd committed their drivel to the ether. Okay, here's one -- Friendship is a feeling of comfort and emotional safety with a person – yuk, and another -- friendship is a cooperative and supportive relationship, involving mutual knowledge, understanding, esteem, affection, loyalty and respect, sympathy, empathy, rendering service in times of need or crisis, blah, blah, blah. Friends will welcome each other's company… often similar tastes… share enjoyable activities. Mutually assistance… exchange of advice and sharing of hardship… desire what is best for the other… yackity, yackity, yak. Don't need to censor thoughts or words…honesty, especially in situations where it may be difficult for others to speak the truth, especially in terms of pointing out the perceived faults of one's counterpart – well, he must score there. Friendship is when someone knows you better than yourself. House scoffed at that, more probably when they think they know you better than you know yourself. Learn to negotiate boundaries as children, which helps in the emotional development of an individual, yeah, yeah, yeah, next. Needs constant nurturing and development from both parties, cannot survive if one person makes all the effort to sustain it without any mutual recognition from others – blah.

Did Cuddy really want all that? This wasn't a case of 'two outta three ain't bad' as Meatloaf sang, he'd be lucky to make three out of thirty at this rate. Not a good percentage. Oh look, thousands of quotes. A friend is one who walks in when others walk out. A friend is someone who is there for you when he'd rather be anywhere else. Your friend is the man who knows all about you, and still likes you. Here was a good one 'I get by with a little help from my friends,' John Lennon. It's the friends you can call up at 4am that matter. Friendship is like money, easier made than kept. Friendship is one mind in two bodies. You don't make friends, you earn them. God! these were getting really sappy. A friend is someone who knows the song in your heart, and can sing it back to you when you have forgotten the words. A friend is one who believes in you when you have ceased to believe in yourself.

What a load of sentimental tosh. Friendship was a personal relationship, check, but it was whatever worked between two people, what they needed out of another person, except it was emotional rather than physical. 'My suspicion is that you have better friends than you deserve,' the judge had said. Friends stepped up to the plate for you – she had perjured herself for him – was that as a friend or as an administrator? Friend… friend – someone who is not the enemy. He sighed. She wasn't the enemy although he sometimes treated her as if she was.

Friend, a confidant – did she need someone to talk to? She had girl friends, didn't she? Not that he'd seen much evidence of them recently, now he thought about it. However, even if she did, this would be about hospital business, most of it confidential -- whether she was gritting her teeth at Dr Proudie's egotism or a donor's self-importance or a patient's lingering death or Dr House's latest antics, no doubt it was more therapeutic if she was able to vent to something other than four walls. He guessed that Wilson was often a useful sponge there but it was not beyond the bounds of possibility that a daily or at least more readily available sponge would be appreciated. As he'd told Cuddy it was a while since he'd done couples speak but he well remembered Stacy's need to vent, and she hadn't been in charge of a hospital full of egos.

He paged idly through the online quotes while he was thinking. Then one stuck out -- A true friend is someone who thinks that you are a good egg even though he knows that you are slightly cracked -- Bernard Meltzer. Now he needed Wilson.

"Wilson, were you ever friends with any of your wives?" was House's opening statement as he flung open Wilson's office door.

"I was friends with all of them." Wilson took the non-sequitur in his stride. House walked across Wilson's office to the couch.

"Was that before you had sex with them or after," he asked, positioning himself on the couch, resting both hands on his cane between his legs.

"Yes," replied Wilson, smiling coyly.

"So, why did you stop being friends?"

"I'm still speaking to two of them, we still have lunch occasionally. I'd still count them as friends."

"Even though you cheated on them?"

"Yes."

"So, you still exchange confidences… about boyfriends, how good they are in bed, how they forget birthdays, don't put the toilet set up? You still take them to plays, movies? It's not just the alimony talking then?"

"No, but they're still friends," said Wilson, leaning back in his chair.

"Apart from number one who wishes cancer was contagious and that you'd die some slow, painful, lingering death?"

"Where's this coming from?" asked Wilson, looking slightly puzzled

"So you don't agree with Oscar Wilde's statement 'Between men and women there is no friendship possible. There is passion, enmity, worship, love, but no friendship.'?" continued House.

"I think you can have all five – all at the same time."

"But you can have passion, enmity, worship, love without the friendship?"

"Yes, although I think the love without friendship would be considered more lust. This is about your estrangement with Cuddy, isn't it?" Wilson stared at House intently.

"There's no estrangement." House looked at the floor.

"There's certainly no accord."

"We are in accord, mutual ignorance… I mean mutual disregard." House stared at the back of the door. There's been a lot of mutuals in the friendship definitions, too, thought House

"You're in mutual purgatory if you ask me."

"Well, nobody is asking you! Did you know one good reason to only maintain a small circle of friends is that three out of four murders are committed by people who know the victim?" House gave Wilson a threatening look. Wilson was unfazed, he waited. House thumped his cane on the floor a few times.

"You think Cuddy's in purgatory?" he asked, finally.

"We had lunch today. For the first few weeks while you two have been ignoring each other, you were notable by your absence from the conversation. Today, even though you haven't caused trouble for weeks, your name came up more frequently than it does when you have actually done something. I think she must be addicted to shouting at you and now she's having withdrawal symptoms." House was lost in thought for a few minutes before he heaved himself up off the couch.

"She didn't believe you about Hacker, did she?" House turned to walk out.

"Hacker's been after her job since before she got it, she doesn't think he's credible," said a slightly mystified Wilson. House turned at the door.

"This time he's plotting and she's not paying enough attention. She's going to be caught flat-footed," House finished before limping out of the office.


	24. AOB

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"Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art... It has no survival value; rather is one of those things that give value to survival." _- C. S. Lewis_

* * *

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House was browsing files on his computer, having broken into Cuddy's file system, again. He checked a few figures against some he had scribbled down on the back of an envelope. He grimaced. 'Damn the woman' he thought. He threw his pen down and leaned back in his chair. He stared at the screen some more, scowling as if he could get the figures to change by remote threatening. He reached for his grey and red tennis ball and started squeezing it. Squeeze, release, squeeze, release as he ran scenarios through his head. 'Damn the woman' he thought, again. He spent a few more minutes in deep thought but he could only come up with one solution to his problem. He just didn't like it very much. Still no good sitting here in self-pity he was already playing brinkmanship with the timing. With one last scowl at the numbers, he sprang from his chair, grabbed his cane, and did a brisk walk towards the elevators while muttering 'damn, damn, damn the woman'.

She had this overwhelming desire to see House, but her excuses seemed flimsy. She could have nagged him for doing cases he could do blindfolded… hmm, must remember that for when she needed to challenge him to do his clinic duty… was it practical to do it blindfolded, no, but he could maybe diagnose from the notes before he saw the patient. Not that she needed any strategies at the moment but he was bound to revert to type eventually, she just didn't believe that he had the patience to keep playing this game – it had to be a game, there was no way he'd taken her seriously – his idea of a professional relationship was only total avoidance when it suited him. He had to come play his games eventually. Mind you the longer it went on the more likely he was to feel the need to come back with an extra big whammy because it would mean she had won. It was odd but she almost missed it… whatever 'it' was. She did her best to ignore the feelings, otherwise words like co-dependence or addiction might raise their head -- which was obviously ridiculous otherwise what she was feeling now might be classed as withdrawal symptoms. Mind you, if that were the case, once she got over the symptoms she'd be much better off, she'd feel better, have more control… at least over herself. It was a game, she was certain, positive, absolutely sure. She just had to hold her nerve and wait House out. Meanwhile, she had a board meeting to attend.

The board meeting had been going as… expected – going smoothly was not really the operative word with so many egos in the room, but most of the reports had been unremarkable, and agreement had been reached on various personnel and budgetary matters. So far, no high jinks from Dr. Hacker with just AOB to go. As she thought, he'd just been spouting off to his cronies and wasn't ready to challenge her directly. House had been wrong, she thought smugly. A few more minutes and she'd be back in her office able to look at Rachel through the webcam.

The chairman called for any other business and went round the table checking with each attendee. Everyone was shaking their heads and there was a general shuffling of papers as people prepared for the meeting to be wound up and they could all escape. Until the question reached Dr. Hacker and yes, he did have something he'd like to bring up regarding sponsorship and donations. Cuddy's heart missed a beat. What? This was one of her areas of responsibility, although everyone had a general responsibility for attracting donors or sponsors, but in general she co-ordinated it. Her record was excellent and was one of the reasons she'd fought off Hacker before. His charm offensive just didn't sit well with donors, oh, he pulled in commendable amounts, but that's what it was, commendable not excellent. So for him to be bringing this up was probably not good news. The quarterly report was not due until next month. Generally, Cuddy carried rough figures and even a fair amount of detail in her head but she'd slipped behind the past couple of weeks and wasn't up to speed today. She'd expected to pick that up over the next few days.

His was a very clever argument, she had to admit, with good timing -- something he'd never managed to coordinate before. It was all presented as if it would be of benefit to her, now she had extra responsibilities, for which he was very pleased for her, but he had noticed that there had been a drop in revenue and he'd therefore stepped into the breach, as it were. All said with a sickly-sweet false smile. He presented his receipts for the quarter which were double her figures while assuring everybody that he had several other sources coming 'online'. In order to ease her workload he would be happy to take over this responsibility. Cuddy could see from the body language round the board that he also must have been working on several of the members prior to the meeting.

The man was a snake or maybe a shark and maybe that was unfair to both species. Cuddy knew it was just the thin end of the wedge. She doubted several of his figures but hadn't got hers to hand to be able to challenge them out right. The thing was did she want to take more of a back seat? Half of her was thinking she had Rachel now, maybe she should take a step back. The other half was quivering with anger and thinking 'over my dead body', I didn't get to be chief of medicine at 32 to have snakes like Hacker take it away. If she was going to take a step back, it would be from responsibilities she wanted to give away and under her terms. She could hear House in her head saying, 'get House boys'. Okay, so she needed assistants, but first things first.

As she made her decision she could also hear House saying 'ever the over achiever'. So, how to thank Hacker for his kind offer but kick him into touch or the balls, either would do – both would be better, but she didn't have enough ammunition for that. Just a firm refusal wouldn't do. Request time to check her figures? Mention his lack of consistency as his past record showed this could just a fleeting one–off? Perhaps recommend a few months of 'parallel' running to maintain a level of consistency – and give her enough time to undermine his position. Then she could ask why he hadn't managed this level of sponsorship before. However, to complicate matters, she noticed that it looked like his cronies Dr. Proudie among them, were primed and ranged against her. She could hear the 'What an excellent idea' and 'How generous of you, Dr Hacker' and other supportive lines being muttered. She glanced at Wilson who was looking worried – he, too, could count the for and againsts. If this went to a vote she was in serious danger of losing. She marshalled her thoughts and was about to speak, when the door burst open and in strolled House.


	25. Close encounters of the fiscal kind

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True friendship is a plant of slow growth, and must undergo and withstand the shocks of adversity before it is entitled to the appellation."_- George Washington,_

* * *

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"Sorry, a bit late with those figures you asked me for, Dr Cuddy. My bad." He smiled insincerely and included the rest of the room in it. "Gosh, did I arrive at a bad time, it looks like a pack of hyenas at the rotten carcass."

"Dr. House, this board meeting is still in session, I'm sure you can give Dr Cuddy your report after this meeting," said the Chairman.

"Oh, no! She asked for them for this meeting, so I'm guessing she needs them now." He plonked an untidy fistful of papers in front of her "Sorry, I haven't typed them up – haven't totalled them either but here's the pledges." His eyes were blazing in anger, she had no idea why, except possibly because she hadn't believed him about Hacker. She hadn't asked for any figures… What trick was House trying to pull? Surely he wasn't escalating the game now? By reflex she started to look at the pages he'd put in front of her. As she was trying to shuffle them into order he glanced over her shoulder.

"Oh, I see you've got the rest of the figures in front of you. I'm just in time then." He snatched the sheet up and made a play of reading through it, then whistled. "Hacker, well done, exceeded your usual quarter totals by what… quadruple? How did you manage given the previous 8 years? Bit of a fluke I suppose, must happen to everyone eventually."

"I don't see that's any of your business Dr. House. As you have given Dr Cuddy your information you can leave now," replied Hacker, dismissively. However, House had never been one to take a hint broad or otherwise.

"She might have questions, my writing's terrible, although she's well practiced with it over the years. And it looks like it's related to the matter at hand. So you'll have to give her a minute just to catch up. Not in a rush are you. Got a nooner planned? Oh no, that somebody else… " he let his eyes glance round the table making sure to make eye contact with one very surprised, and uncomfortable board member, who just happened to be one of Hacker's cronies." He glanced at the sheet again, then pointed to an entry. "Bodger & Fixnowt, oh dear, Hacker, they filed for Chapter 7 this morning, didn't you hear that on the news?"

The board members went from impatient fidgeting to paying more attention. It was well known that Hacker had ambitions, this was not necessarily a bad thing, if this was for the benefit of the hospital. Ambition tended to be motivating but Hacker was not well liked and if he had fudged his figures… Those in favour of Cuddy looked encouragingly at House, those neutral looked interested, and those aligned with Hacker but not his cronies were looking wary, they did not want to be caught on the wrong side.

"That's $20,000 off your total. Shame you didn't get them to pay yesterday, promises are so cheap." His eyes moved down the page, and onto another. "Oh, look you've counted that entry twice. Just because a husband and wife have different surnames -- when they only send one cheque you can only put it down once, not once for each surname. That double-entry bookkeeping is so tricky isn't it? It's why I never do it. $10,000 from Megla pharmaceuticals… that's odd you usually only get a 'donation' from them once a year and you claimed that last quarter."

"I did not," said Hacker, indignantly.

"Yes, you did," said Cuddy, still head down trying to make sense of House's scribble. That was one of the figures she thought was suspect so she was happy to sound confident backing House up. The rest of the board looked at Hacker who was looking hesitant.

"I… I must have missed that when I was checking my figures. However, that doesn't really affect the significance of the overall total." He still had a confidently smug air.

House's air was even smugger. "Oh, look, Quantum Analyticus, I thought Proudie usually got a donation from them…? You pissed them off Proudie?"

"No…I…errm…" Proudie trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

"Oh, I see," said House, "It's some kind of quantum mechanical donation… in two places at once." He smiled, sardonically.

Hacker was beginning to sweat. He had massaged some of his figures not expecting to get called on them because, with the correct timing, Cuddy would not be up to speed. Once he had the job, he should be able to fudge the paperwork so no-one noticed the discrepancy. Normally, no one was interested in the details only the final figures and for House, of all people, to notice -- he never took any interest in the running of the hospital except to circumvent rules, procedures and bureaucracy.

"I think you'll find that is still not significant to the overall total, Dr House. I…" Hacker was not allowed to finish.

"Yes, about that," said Cuddy, now with a martial light in her eye. "As I now have the Diagnostics department's figures, I can add that further endowments of a million dollars can be added to the quarter's receipts. Two thirds of it is dependent on Dr House being available for consultation. Should Dr House leave the funding will go with him, otherwise it is at the hospital's disposal."

She saw one of the board members lean into his neighbour and whisper something, it rapidly spread round the table. Unbeknownst to her, the day before House had spotted Dr Fautor leaning on the balcony and had engaged him in an apparent casual conversation.

"An excellent view from up here," House said, as his opening gambit.

"Yes, I suppose it is," said Fautor, slightly taken aback at being spoken to by House.

"Suppose? You'd only get a better view of Cuddy's cleavage if you can stand behind her while she's sitting…"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Fautor interrupted.

"Your secret's safe with me." House winked at Fautor. "You wouldn't be a real man if you didn't look. Me, I'm just a lost cause to the ass." Fautor looked startled. "I'd follow it anywhere, even to another hospital -- if she ever left."

"Are you two…?" Fautor started to ask, a little too eagerly.

"God, No!" House looked shocked. "That cleavage has teeth, it's strictly a look but don't touch zone."

"I'm glad to hear it," said a disappointed Fautor. He'd been hoping for a bit of gossip.

"But, its adds something to the work day don't you think? And she so likes to be in charge."

Fautor had nodded, not sure what House was really getting at, just glad he wasn't being confrontational.

Cuddy could see the body language change as the whisper spread, it was definitely swaying away from Hacker. If Cuddy wanted to devolve some of her responsibilities voluntarily then they would be sympathetic and Hacker's offer would have been welcome. However, it would appear that Cuddy did not want to devolve any responsibilities that, despite what Hacker had said, she was on top of her job -- no one even considered the possibility that House might have brought a report or raised funds off his own bat, so the glory went to Cuddy. If they approved Hacker's play for part of Cuddy's job, there was every possibility that she might leave and, for whatever reason, it looked like House was supporting Cuddy. The hospital politics teetered. Basically, many on the board did not want Cuddy leaving the hospital taking her considerable money attracting assets with her. If House left it would be with mixed feelings but right now a million dollars spoke loudly to most board members.

Cuddy looked at the numbers again, she was still short of Hacker's 'updated' total but it was a lot more respectable. She might now possibly be able to talk her way out of this one. She saw House take another breath and she tried to stop him before he undid all his 'good' work.

"Dr House," she tried to get his attention. He looked at her but carried on talking anyway. She cringed expecting the worst.

"This number here, the $100,000 from Inflecto Brothers…" Everybody now dutifully looked at the sheet. "…that can't be right."

"I got that figure from Rackem," Hacker said, defensively

"What, Rackem in accounting? The one who volunteers for that charity? The one that's being investigated for creative accounting, you know the one that seemed to have a surfeit of zeros… added after all the other significant numbers, so $10,000 became $100,000? The one that was walked off site by two plain clothes police officers yesterday after an, apparently, anonymous tip-off? That Rackem?"

The balance tipped. Hacker's support withered on the vine. Cuddy made her move.

"Dr House?"

"Yes, Dr Cuddy?" He turned to look at her, still with residual anger glittering in his eyes.

"Thank you for these figures. That will be all." She prayed and hoped that whatever anger he was feeling towards her right now was still moderated by whatever had goaded him into rescuing her in the first place. Because rescue her he had. She needed him to leave now, before he did any damage and to give that final nail in the coffin to any doubts there might be about how much control she had over her hospital.

"But…" Surely he wasn't going to sabotage his efforts so far. Although having proved he was capable of rescuing her he was just as capable of torpedoing her as well. Just to prove his point.

"I believe you have clinic duty." She let her eyes plead with him, while keeping her face a mask of officiousness. Hopefully, most of the board were watching House for his reaction, rather than her. And if they weren't, hopefully, only he could read her eyes.

He grimaced. "Your wish is my command, O magnificence," he bowed, doing some complicated hand gesture, which, if seen from a certain angle, might have involved a certain finger gesture in Hacker's direction, and shuffled backwards out of the door. A couple of people tsked in disdain, most smirked. Cuddy kept her face set on serious, promising herself a smirk in private. She was about to address Hacker, but the chairman got in before her and proceeded to wrap up the meeting attempting to quash further discussion.

"Well, Dr Cuddy seems to have everything under control. The quarterly presentation is scheduled for next month by which time we will have confirmed figures. I think that about wraps it up for today. Thank you everybody."

There was a quick movement of chairs backwards, and several tried for swift exits before Dr Hacker could speak. Unfortunately, he did manage to get himself heard.

"There is just one further point. Can Dr Cuddy confirm that Dr House will be speaking at the charity dinner next month?"

Which/ what/ where charity dinner? she thought. She glanced at Wilson who looked sheepish.

"Absolutely. No problem," she replied, giving Wilson a menacing look just as he escaped through the door.

It took her twenty minutes to get down to Wilson's office, by the time a couple of department heads had had a 'quick' word. House was just leaving Wilson's office, he opened the door to be confronted by Cuddy. She was ready to make nice. House wanted none of it.

"Oh, look Wilson, your eleven o'clock's here. She's got a cancerous growth, running around with its own independent life support. It still drains all the life out of you though and makes you stupid." Then barged his way passed her. He could feel the stare of death hitting him in the back as he retreated down the hall. However, Cuddy had more immediate words to despatch, she beard House in his lair later.

She turned to Wilson, with a look that had his knees quivering such that he was glad he was sitting down. "What speech for what charity dinner?"

"It's in last month's minutes. It was Dr. Heggerty's request." He answered, watching her warily.

"Request?" How could she say that and make him feel like she had a scalpel at his throat?

"Yes. She represents the polio charity giving the event, and they promised PPTH 10% of the proceeds if a representative from PPTH gave a speech. They requested House because of that post-polio syndrome case he identified."

"And you thought this was a good idea?" she asked, incredulously.

"The rest of the board all voted to approve the request, I would have been the only dissenting voice and they only needed a majority for that vote anyway." Wilson squirmed. This wasn't his fault, but mentioning that at the moment would not help his cause.

"Getting House to give a speech that's he's contractually obliged to give is a Herculean task. He'd never agree to this one. What were you thinking? And why haven't you mentioned it before now?" She was in irate disbelief.

"Well, everyone else thought it was a good idea. You and House seemed to be getting on well. I thought you'd be able to talk him into it. As for the latter, it never occurred to me that you wouldn't be up to date."

"Talk him into it! Even if we were speaking that would have been an impossible task." She paced backwards and forwards across his office in agitation.

"I thought you said you weren't not speaking… that's a double negative but it comes out meaning the same thing." He was hoping to deflect her thought processes away from him.

"We aren't not speaking… we're just… not meeting," she said, as if that clarified the matter. "You'll have to ask him to give the speech."

"That's not going to work." He tried to sidestep, his mood rising towards panic.

"Well, I can't ask him, he's already going to be gloating about today."

"Can't blame him, he did warn you."

"I know!" she barked out at him. Okay mentioning the board meeting was a worse minefield than mentioning the speech. Where was House when you needed him? He was much better at deflecting her.

"Now's probably a good time to ask him. You might catch him off guard while he's feeling smug. Polish his ego, appeal to his intellect," Wilson wheedled. She looked exasperated. "You'll never know if you don't ask. What are you afraid of? His gloating?"

"I'm not afraid. Okay, maybe I am. He's going to… belittle me." Wilson just looked at her. "Okay, so I missed it but he doesn't have to rub my nose in it."

"What makes you think he'll do that?"

"Because… that's what he does. He's going to have a field day." At least she had stopped pacing. However, she was stood in the middle of his office arms crossed, glaring at him.

"Hmmm," mused Wilson.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"If he was going to do that, you'd think he would have done that just now, while he had me as an audience…"

Cuddy thought about that for a moment. "His parting shot wasn't him gloating, was it?" she concluded.

"No," agreed Wilson.

"He's angry?" she suggested.

"That's a better guess," agreed Wilson, seeing a light at the end of the tunnel, or more to the point, Cuddy's back as she turned for the door.

"I can cope with anger over gloating," she said, as she marched out of his office.

Wilson blew out a huge sigh of relief.

He was in his office, standing in front of his desk, back to the door. He turned as she entered and his eyes narrowed.

"House… I just wanted to thank you…" she started.

"I don't want your gratitude, Dr Cuddy," he snapped.

"Are you just trying to hold an obligation over my head?" She was confused at his attitude.

"No," he said, tersely.

"Then why did you do it?" If he was going to be monosyllabic she might as well go for the direct approach

"Who wants to teach another administrator? It's taken me years to get you trained. You're such a slow learner," he sneered.

"You wouldn't last five minutes with a new administrator." She tried to put a bit of friendliness into her tone. She was grateful to House after all, but, as usual, he was making it difficult.

"What makes you think that? At least I have been doing my job, unlike you." His eyes were hard and glittering.

"You're not doing your job. You're paying lip service to it." She snapped, she had been trying to be nice, but if he wanted an argument, she'd give him one.

"I'm doing my job -- solved loads of cases, all while having to cover your ass." He pointed his cane at her to emphasize his point.

"Those cases are so easy you should have been able to do them three at a time." She took at step towards him, eyes flashing. "And, I didn't need somebody to bail me out."

"If you don't like the cases I'm doing bring me other ones. Right," he scoffed, "you were so well prepared for that meeting. Hacker had you on the ropes." He leaned towards her getting into her personal space, towering over her.

"I don't need an employee telling me how to do my job." She closed the distance between their faces refusing to let him intimidate her. If they were Van de Graf generators there'd be sparks flying by now.

"Well, this employee just saved your ass. I just prostituted myself to twenty geriatrics to raise the funds you should have got had you been doing your job."

"Who?" she asked, momentarily diverted.

"The O'Learys and their various bridge and golf buddies," he answered, evenly.

"Really? How did you manage that?"

"Told Mrs O'Leary I needed to save your ass and she rounded up the sacrificial lambs. She's got a soft spot for me." He said with a smug smile.

"Sounds more like you're the sacrifice, you're now contracted to provide them with free consultation to the end of their life," she said with an evil grin.

"Only, if the admitting doctor or their GP has exhausted all other possibilities."

"The O'Learys are pretty savvy when it comes to contracts. They'll want their money's worth. So don't even think of trying to wriggle your way out of those responsibilities." She pointed a finger at him to emphasize her point.

"Better that than a pound of flesh," he said, viciously. "I'll do my job like I always do it. If you don't like the way I'm doing it fire me," he challenged her.

"That's just typical of you, go all Prima Donna. You're like an eight year old child -- I'm going home if you don't play the game I want to," she mimicked a childish voice. "Toss your toys out of the pram why don't you. What you going to do next? Hold your breath?"

"And you think you're so in charge? Nag, nag, nag, that's all you ever do. I might as well be married to you, you're worse than Wilson."

Her hands went to her hips. "When hell freezes over! That's just typical of a man! Accuse the woman of nagging when all she's trying to do is to get you to do what you're supposed to do."

All semblance of professional discussion was abandoned. They'd certainly forgotten what had started it. They were both leaning towards each other, intent on their argument, eyes flashing, slightly flushed cheeks, an aura of excitement in the air and, strangely, one of relief.

"That's right blame the man. Am I supposed to cave now? Say sorry your right, dear? It was all my fault? Time for the angry make-up sex now? Anybody would think this was a personal argument."

And that was the bucket of icy cold water on the pair – simultaneous recognition -- personal argument. They paused breathing deeply; their faces mirrored each other – shock. They were high, absolutely charged, invigorated and elated by the argument. They thrived off confrontation, nothing new there, but this… with each other… were they… addicted to each other? They blinked, slowly, gathering their wits. Their eyes roamed the other's face, looking for denial, hoping the other could come up with reasons, excuses, anything. They swallowed.

Cuddy had come here to thank him and try to get things back to normal but, by normal, she had not expected the physical response, the emotional and physical relief. How tightly wound up she had been. The sort of thing she thought tennis, massages and even sex relieved. She was terrified. She went for control.

"House," she said, reaching to touch his arm. He saw the movement and sprang back avoiding the touch.

"That's hardly professional conduct, Dr Cuddy." His defences went up. "What's the matter? Total avoidance not working for you? Fancy that, personal and work relationships being intertwined. Life's a bummer when you realise that personal relationships affects how people work together. Still too late now. You've got what you wanted. So, if that's all, I do have a case."

She swallowed, debated with herself but turned and walked away. She needed to think. He'd need to think. It was a two-edged sword letting him think, but if she tried to analyse the situation now, House would just go stubborn… more stubborn. Without the personal connection what control did she have over him? She'd never realised just how often he had responded to her on a personal level. He was always so in her face, lobbying for risky, abnormal procedures, advocating for his patient, circumventing her when he thought it necessary, and the petty power plays ... but without the bets, bribes, body, or the occasional touch to ground him… what did she have?

She could withdraw his authorisation, threaten him with sanctions -- that always worked really well with someone with issues with authority -- threaten to fire him, but that was self defeating and he knew it. There were certain situations where she could hold that above his head and he might take notice but it wouldn't hold him as a general rule. If the patient had something that was sufficiently puzzling, or was of sufficient interest that held him but they didn't always catch his attention straight off. There were the games…

Was this a game? It had none of the hallmarks of a game. If he wasn't playing games…? Her stomach lurched. She hadn't got what she wanted and she certainly hadn't got what she needed. He must have known this would happen. So, was he was keeping the low profile as part of a game or because that's what she asked for? He was certainly taking her literally. Well, whether he was trying to prove a point or doing some passive aggressive power play he'd proved that 'total avoidance' wasn't what was required. Not that she'd actually said total avoidance, but she had said go back to your usual MO and had not corrected him when he'd said complete avoidance.

How did she get it back to something more workable? She'd hurt him when she'd told him to stay out of her life, she'd seen him mask it. Did he hate her? He hated that he'd had to 'prostitute' himself to get the funds. Couldn't blame him for that. But why did he do it? It was almost heretical for House to seek donations. He'd given a perfectly selfish reason and that was probably part of it, but with House there could be more than one reason. So, he hated seeking donations… a lot of donations, less than her not being in charge. She should be gratified.

Perhaps he got Wilson to do it… but, by the look on Wilson's face in the meeting, it had come as a complete surprise to him, too. So, he hadn't ignored it, he hadn't got Wilson to do it, it was all House… for her. That didn't sound right. What a fanciful idea… 'House had done it for her'… she laughed to herself, for her…? That would mean… House had acted to save her, actually done something positive for her. She shook her head as if she could get rid of the faulty logic.

Okay, follow the logic through – House did something nice… more than nice, altruistic, although he denied it. Maybe altruistic was pushing it, because he definitively wouldn't want another administrator. He didn't want her gratitude and he was angry. Okay, he was angry because he'd had to exert himself, so if you take angry out – be nice, deny it, spurn gratitude – yes, that was consistent with House… but why?

On the other hand, it could be argued that House did something selfish, protecting himself, and she was just collaterally saved? Except, it came back to he didn't want her gratitude and he was angry. Even angry she would have expected House to have demanded some sort of recompense for his efforts, starting with a year off clinic duty… but he hadn't. So… he'd been… nice? That was a scary thought.

Meanwhile, how did she get House to do the speech? She had a child now, she couldn't afford to risk her job. For fostering and certainly for adoption she needed to be financially secure, she needed her job, but if she didn't get House to that charity dinner she'd be in real danger of losing her job, especially after she had agreed to get him there. It was just the opening Hacker was looking for. God, what a mess.

She needed to think about it. There had to be a way to get through to him. Must be something he wanted… other than sex. Just imagine going there, not that she'd contemplate it. It would all end horribly, possibly taking her job with it – so many ways to lose her job. And it would be just sex because he didn't want a personal relationship -- although he'd sort of implied… but that was just House messing with her. Think, Lisa, think.


	26. Looks Real on the Outside

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No one knows what its like To be the bad man To be the sad man Behind blue eyes

No one knows what its like To be hated To be fated To telling only lies

But my dreams They aren't as empty As my conscience seems to be – The Who

* * *

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House stared at the test results in front of him. The numbers seemed to fade in and out of focus. One, because he was in pain and the Vicodin wasn't helping, hadn't been working for several hours and two because his mind kept reverting back to a few days ago. The last time Cuddy had been in his office. Even in retrospect, he couldn't decide whether he should have avoided her touch. He knew it was a 'peace' offering, unfortunately, if she had touched him then he would have been lost. He couldn't have her realise the power she had over him at that point, that he was craving her touch. She was going to find out eventually… hopefully, but until he was certain that they were both going forward together with the same goal in mind, then he didn't want her knowing how easy it was for her to get inside his walls. So far she had seemed oblivious, too worried about her own position and feelings, too wrapped up in her new little world. Meanwhile his world had fallen out of his bottom… or maybe the bottom out of his world. If he was prone to self-pity, as well as other self somethings, he might think that he had the reverse Midas touch, everything he touched turned to rust.

She was smart, sooner rather than later she would come to the same realization that he had, that they had fed off each other, inspired each other, vitalised, motivated, stimulated, focused on each other. They'd always played each other, sparred, brandied words and insults, even the odd compliment… usually wrapped up as an insinuation, but said nonetheless. He'd always enjoyed it and he'd always just ridden that wave, never plumbed the depths of why. It was almost as shocking as the kiss after she'd lost Joy, and hadn't that had been a revelation. She'd been in so much pain, emotionally, that he'd had to reach out, to try and give her some comfort. Her response had been surprising; his response to her response had been surprising.

Up to that point he'd thought he could take her or leave her. Yes, she was fun to wind up, to jerk around, a worthy foe, he liked messing with her, he wouldn't have admitted to liking her, but if she'd have jumped him he probably wouldn't have said no. Then, given the opportunity, he couldn't do it. He couldn't take advantage of her in that state. Put it down to self-interest, it had all the hallmarks of a crash and burn and even his under-developed self-preservation instinct knew better than to go that route. Except, why? Why not accept what was offered? It wasn't as if they were going to have a relationship, so why not? He could hide behind because she was his boss so not a good idea to piss her off, or because they worked in the same hospital and who wanted that complications or because, as Wilson had so perceptively pointed out, it mattered, she mattered, he… cared, he had… feelings. And it had surprised him. He didn't know what to do with the feelings.

Naturally, she'd rationalized and negated which was a disappointing relief. Then she'd changed her mind, somewhat provoked by him he had to admit, although he'd been unsure of himself and of her and he'd screwed up. Then he'd finalized things in his own mind and she wasn't interested – she said. He'd done too little too late or, more to the point, undone too little too late. Except she'd given him clues… deliberately or accidentally was open to debate but she had given him clues. So, there he was working on the friends requirement when, bam, another little surprise.

They needed each other. Scary thought that was. Not to be over dramatic, they'd probably limp along without each other but they'd never get the same zest in life if the other weren't there. Hell, wasn't this a high stakes game. Still no sense in folding at this point, it had always been a high stakes game. It was just becoming obvious that the stakes were even higher than he had anticipated. Nothing like a bit of self-awareness to make you realise you've not been rational but been rationalizing along with every one else. Wouldn't Wilson just laugh his socks off if he ever found that out? Never take anything for granted, he should know that. Hadn't he had this talk with himself after the bus crash? Didn't he ever learn? Not according to Cameron, he thought in slight amusement, but then she didn't see everything.

Don't take Cuddy for granted. Apart from the fact she was a woman and could behave irrationally, hmmm, perhaps he shouldn't use that word, it would be rational to her, it would just be unexpected to him… which was the interesting bit, right? For once in his life he'd rather things were less interesting, because apart from the fact she was a woman, it appeared she was the woman he could not do without. Unfortunately, there was no reason that Cuddy should come to a similar conclusion. She might just come to the opposite conclusion, just to be contrary… or, more likely, because she was panicking. No way on earth would Lisa Cuddy want feelings like that, feelings she couldn't control, free-ranging in his vicinity, possibly anybody's vicinity but especially him. He gave that a bit more thought. Unless she knew he was just as out of control, then it could go either way. She could run for the hills or she'd be fascinatingly intrigued and join in… actually, there was a third way, she could laugh… hysterically, and have real fun at his expense. He'd have to make himself extremely vulnerable to her to find out.

This was a catch-22. He couldn't make himself that vulnerable unless he knew there was a decent chance of moving forward but if he didn't make himself vulnerable he might never find out if they could move forward. They would never survive in an unequal relationship, they had to have balance. It might look unbalanced to an outside observer but it would be balanced to them. Without balance they'd always go in circles. He couldn't let her revert back to how it was before but if he wasn't careful they could move completely away from each other. That was unacceptable so he had to move it forward. He had to get her to realize that what she'd asked for wasn't what she wanted or needed, first professionally then personally. He was fairly certain that professionally at least, she was already being to realise this. However, she'd want to go back to normal and that was just as dangerous or useless depending on where you stood, as moving away from each other.

Therefore, next time, hopefully there would be a next time, he had to let her touch him no matter what he gave away in the process. What to do next? How to convince her? He needed to think but he was distracted. His leg hurt and he had the test results in front of him.

He'd run various scenarios through his head but the only logical course of action at this point was to see Cuddy – except he wasn't ready to see Cuddy. Especially not when he needed her to believe him on this before he said or did something stupid. The something stupid being a defence mechanism because he was in pain, but given the current 'balance' of their relationship, had Cuddy not understanding or forgiving and consequently had her backing off even further. He sighed -- vulnerability again. He looked at the test results, again. He'd checked Wilson it wasn't him. It might possibly be Kutner, but he didn't think even he could be that bravely stupid. He sighed, again, grabbed his cane and test results and limped heavily to find Cuddy.

She was in her office. Start off normal, he thought. He barged in.

"Have you substituted my Vicodin?" he practically yelled.

"Not recently," she replied, slightly perplexed.

He stood thoughtfully for a moment, then obviously came to a decision. He limped to her desk and handed over the test results – she looked at him puzzled before looking down at the sheet.

"I don't think the pharmacist will believe me…" he left the 'I'm hoping you will' unsaid. She turned to look at him.

"Reaping the rewards of past misdemeanours?" She asked, but there was no malice in her tone, almost a hint of… amusement. Was that good or bad? He wasn't sure, it wasn't terrible. He felt one of the bands of tension running though his body ease.

"I've already tried two refills," he added, trying to save on questions.

"Nefarious means I assume?" She looked exasperated.

"One was," he admitted.

"How long?"

"Two days. I've used up my stash, my secret stash, my secret, secret stash… all of them." She looked dubious. "I haven't kept as many since…" He trailed off not wanting to refer to Tritter and all the trouble that had caused. She still looked unconvinced, then he saw her scrutinise him more closely. He knew what she would see. He was pale, sweating, limping heavily, pupils dilated. He was close to withdrawal if he wasn't already in it. She looked back at the figures. She got up, picking up the sheets of paper.

"You tested both refills?" she asked.

"Yes." She headed for the door.

"So help me you better not be pulling a fast one, House."

"You believe me?" She turned.

"Did you fake the test results?" He shook his head. "Then I believe you enough to go and upset the pharmacist. Sit down and wait here. If I find I need to rip your arms and legs off I don't want to search the hospital to do it."

He sat on the couch with a sigh of relief, rubbed his leg and waited. The wait was interminable giving him a lot of time to think. Had that been a professional exchange? She hadn't seemed aloof or distant. She hadn't been too disbelieving… sceptical but not disbelieving. She was allowed to be sceptical, she was a scientist before she was an administrator. Was that sympathy, pity or business as usual he saw in her eyes? He didn't see triumph, so unless she'd got it well hidden she hadn't conspired with the pharmacist to doctor his pills. Somebody else might have though. He'd made enough enemies over the years and then topped it off by upsetting Hacker's plans. He didn't think that Hacker had the balls to tamper with drugs, maybe one of his cohorts might, but he'd be too scared of getting caught. Fortunately, Cuddy came back stopping his train of thought.

"The Vicodin is all the same batch number that came in three days ago. It looks like the genuine article, packaging, sealed, everything. However, other complaints are coming in. The first few the pharmacist thought it was the usual addict behaviour. I've sent some random samples up to the lab to be tested."

"Don't you trust me?"

"Of course not. However, you wouldn't be here if you had any doubts but I need to know the scale. If it's the whole batch or if you were just unlucky. In the meantime, I've brought you methadone." She held out a cup.

He looked up at her, surprised.

"I know it's risky but it'll help with the withdrawal as well as the pain. You can go back to the Vicodin when we can get another batch. Or you can wait for the test results and hope that the whole batch is not fake. Or, I'll give you another prescription and you can try a different pharmacy, which might not have fake Vicodin. Your choice."

"But I can't have a drink if I take that." He felt the need for some token resistance, even though his pain level was now around 8. He wouldn't object too much, though. Not when this was his ideal opportunity to try methadone with Cuddy's blessing and without her ever having to know he'd been considering it anyway.

"Are you an alcoholic now as well, you can't go without a drink for a couple of days? Is this something I should know about, you can't be drunk and practice?" He looked at her then down to the cup she was proffering.

"I'd rather have oxycodone," he wheedled.

"You overdosed on that."

"That was…" perhaps he'd better not go there, Tritter again. It was a one-off but he could see her point and no doubt Wilson would have the same point if he tried to get a different prescription from him. He took the drugs in the hand rather than aiming for the fix in the bush, especially as it suited his hidden agenda.

"You're not going to give me the lecture?"

"You wouldn't listen if I did. I thought I'd save ourselves the time. You know the risks as well as I do. The pharmacist will be contacting the other patients on Vicodin and eventually the distributor – other hospitals and pharmacies might be affected. PPTH just happens to have its own canary."

"Tweet, fucking tweet." She smiled. He felt another of the bands of tension ease. She continued to watch him, then sat down next to him. He turned his head to look at her.

"Counterfeit drugs are on the increase," she said, conversationally. "The FDA estimate that fake drugsaccount for about 10% of global pharmaceutical sales, and have lead directly to more than half a million deaths a year worldwide. Problem's worst in Asia and Africa, where the WHO reckons up to 25% of drugs sold are fake and for some drugs, for example those for malaria treatment, it could be up to 50%. Nearly $39 billion, equivalent to 11% of global pharmaceutical sales will be counterfeit this year expecting to reach $75 billion in 2010, an incredible 92% increase from 2005. Even in developed countries it's estimated about 1% of drugs are fake. In the UK alone that equates to about eight million packs of medicines worth £425m a year. There have been 14 major recalls in Britain in the past three years, compared with just one in the previous decade, and British border officials seized more than half a million counterfeit pills last year. In the last two months, the EU seized 34 million fake tablets at customs points in all member countries."

"Actually, most active ingredients for brand-name drugs can be bought over the internet cheaply, and you don't need a sophisticated lab to duplicate pills," House chimed in.

"You setting up a lab in your kitchen? The recovered packs contained 50-80% of the correct pharmaceutical ingredient, but ineffective antibiotics made of talcum powder, birth-control pills made of rice flour, and more dangerous substances are regularly seized by border officials. At least there wasn't rat poison in the ones you took." She reached for his wrist to take his pulse.

"Only if I can con Kutner into doing the mixing, otherwise it would be too much effort. Much easier to get Wilson to write a script." He watched calmly as her fingers encircled his wrist. Good thing he had an excuse for his elevated heart rate.

"You'd be out classed anyway. The counterfeiters are sophisticated, even the packaging and pill markings are the same. It's suspected that some of the manufacturers, mostly in Asia, make the real stuff during the day then make counterfeit ones at night. It used to be small amounts online but organised criminals are now involved, counterfeiting globally, and target pharmaceutical wholesalers who supply everyone from high-street pharmacies to hospitals. Wholesalers duped…"

"Or unscrupulous -- why pay $100 for a pack of tablets, when the same pack costs $5 from a Chinese counterfeit gang," said the cynic extraordinaire. Cuddy acknowledge the possibility with a tilt of her head.

"From the criminal's point of view, there's far less risk than with cocaine and heroin -- fake medicines are easy to produce, low risk to sell, and vastly more profitable than the traditional drug trade. A counterfeit drug costing a fraction of a penny can be sold for 50 times as much on Western markets. And, the maximum penalty you can serve for misbranding is 6½ years in prison."

"A tracking system's needed but that requires a level of global cooperation that's not happening anytime soon. Here in the US, a national computer system to record a drug's journey from factory to patient has been stalled repeatedly by the pharmaceutical industry. Can't blame them for that -- extra bureaucracy will raise costs and possibly disrupt supply chains. So, it'll stay like that until something bad happens."

"That almost sounds like you sympathising with the pharmaceutical industry." He looked scandalised. "Fortunately, the source of the counterfeit drug is the wholesaler's problem not mine. Patients on the other hand… Your heart rate is coming down. You've got a bit of colour back. How are you feeling now?"

The pain was easing, as was the tension in his body, which had been making the pain worse.

"Better." She let go of his wrist. He thought she was going to say something else, but obviously decided against it. He sighed, rose from the couch and walked towards the door. He turned.

"Thank you," he said. For everything, he thought, as he walked out -- for believing me, treating me, caring enough to take a few minutes out to give me a distraction while the medication kicked in.


	27. Looks real on the Inside

Many thanks and many apologies to all those who have taken the time and effort to send a review. I will be replying asap. Unfortunately, I've been rather tied up with RL sh*t and problems – so no replies and no updates! Here's a small update to keep you going and I'll try to get back into the rhythm of posting every 3 or 4 days. :-) Syn

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She watched him go with vague feelings of frustration. Only ten days to go and she still hadn't had any brainwaves. If she asked him straight out and he rejected that idea -- refused to trade clinic hours – what then? He was probably at his mellowest now, should she take the opportunity or wait until he had his Vicodin back? Ask him while she had control of his medication – too many ways that could backfire on her. She'd hang fire for now, she just hoped she hadn't missed an opportunity.

It was, however, a fortunate decision as House had a respiratory arrest a couple of days later. Luckily, he was at work and it was noticed by his team. That didn't prevent her guilt reflex kicking in, bad enough she had prescribed him the methadone in the first place, but if she had tried to manipulate him into giving the speech while having control of his medication -- she'd never have forgiven herself. As it was, the next time they had an argument he would no doubt snarkily refer to how she had tried to kill him.

Needless to say, he wouldn't continue on the methadone despite the fact it had helped his pain. Fortunately, a new supply of Vicodin was in by then, so he switched back and avoided her and her guilt reflex – otherwise she'd have been touching him again. And that was dangerous. As were those sad eyes of his. Even touching him to take his pulse had made her heart skip a beat, obviously because she was in some trepidation as to his reaction. It was a relief when he hadn't pulled away from her but his look had been unsettling.

Then again, she'd been unsettled ever since the row in his office… she'd been high, almost like getting a fix. She'd been right about suffering from withdrawal symptoms. That was scary. Fortunately, they'd both been high, both been shocked at the realization which made it slightly less scary. However, it was unacceptable. She couldn't let that happen again – the 'dependence' not the argument. The arguments were… normal, if House was arguing with her that was a good sign. She needed House back as he was… needed? She didn't mean needed – preferred, yes, she preferred House back as he was. You couldn't get addicted to arguing, could you? She'd have to be getting pleasure from the argument… that was just… impossible.

Perhaps it would be better just to accept things the way they were now? She was fairly sure that hadn't been his original intention with his total avoidance tactics but after the row… such intensity of feelings. House was bound to avoid them, ignore them, pretend they weren't there, that they didn't happen. But he had come to her about the Vicodin – that must have been difficult for him. Logic dictated that it was the only sensible course of action but, despite him striving for a rational mind, common sense wasn't always House's first thought. He was weighted towards manipulation first in preference to trust. House in pain didn't always do sensible things – then again, who did? House in pain often lashed out. He'd obviously been trying to do neither of these things -- coupled with the rather terrifying revelation in his office that was quite remarkable.

Was he not terrified then? Was he accepting the feelings? That was scary. He must have rationalised it. It wasn't possible that he was dealing with his feelings better than she was. How had he done it? Perhaps his feelings didn't go deep. He must know that she knew that he'd responded to her, been stimulated – felt alive. Of course, he did. He didn't care that she knew because it was what he wanted – her interacting with him on his terms. But that realization… he'd definitely been shocked, that hadn't been part of his game plan. Neither had 'the kiss'.

She wondered if she did nothing what House would do? He'd know he'd proved his point, so would he bide his time waiting for her to make the next move in returning to normal? House was not a patient man, but would he risk exposing himself to her rejection, again? Unfortunately, she didn't have time to just wait. She was going to have to kiss and make up – not literally, don't put that idea in House's head, because there was a speech she needed him to give.

Wait, rewind. He had come to her about the Vicodin. He could so easily have tried to fix 'his' problem and compounded it for everybody else. She'd been so close to assuming he was back to his games, she'd nearly missed the signs of withdrawal. He'd trusted her with that. She hadn't trusted him, not until she had some evidence. Sometimes he was so straightforward -- and she missed it looking for the twist. This had been his 'peace' offering. All was not lost.

He liked truth, he expected everyone to lie, but he liked truth. Maybe the straightforward approach would work… if she explained the facts… mentioned Hacker, no love lost there. That was putting her fate in his hands though, she'd have no control… that would be like walking into an emotional minefield – the irony of 'hoisted on her own petard' was not lost on her. On the other hand, House did like games and appreciated a good manoeuvre. What to do? What to do?


	28. Enough circles to make a spiral

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Blessed is he who talks in circles, for he shall become a big wheel. -- Frank Dane

***********************.

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He paged her late at night for authorization for a procedure. Everything was in order, he was not inconveniencing her to be awkward, or make a point, although he was making a point. At least this time he hadn't got a minion to do it.

"You couldn't come knocking at my door for me to sign this?" she asked.

"That's not standard procedure," he replied.

"It's what you normally do, unless you're trying to make a point."

"I was under the impression that this was no longer acceptable behaviour, that I was not welcome at your home."

Several images flashed through her head – make a wish foundation, outside her bedroom window advocating for the Addison's disease guy, Don the Jdate guy, after Joy, DDX in the nursery, where's the cookies, go for a run. There was also an underlying question in there.

"That's not what I meant."

He looked at her sadly. "Careful what you ask for."

"House!" He turned from walking out the door. "I asked you to go back to your usual MO."

"You said 'no meddling', complete avoidance."

"Since when have you ever not just ignored what was inconvenient to you?"

"How long have you known me? I don't do things by halves, Dr Cuddy. Professional relationship you asked for. Professional relationship is what you're getting. Is there a problem with how I'm doing my job?"

"No, but…"

"Then I'll get on with it." With which he departed.

She sighed in frustration. The man still had a damned agenda which ran counter to what she had intended. He didn't want the usual MO, he wanted what? More into her life? More of her? Taken in isolation it didn't sound so bad but the full House, everywhere in her life, in Rachel's… I don't think so. Rachel was hers, it was her life, her choices, her job, her child, her home… her partnerless state. She already had the family whispering campaign -- not that there was much whispering, unless you whispered loudly. Find a nice boy, settle down, you're not getting any younger (her personal favourite), you need someone you can depend on -- almost her own words. Funny when they came from her family her instinct was to rebel.

Her family had expected her to find a nice boy since graduation, actually, before that, while she was still at college. Unfortunately, she'd never been attracted to nice boys -- she'd tried it once, after Llyn, and the old mantra of find a nice boy had been chanted out. So she had. It was nice while it lasted; he'd cooked meals, put the toilet seat down, top back on the toothpaste, taken the trash out, collected dry cleaning, gone for groceries. She'd been happy, to start with. There was something nice about coming home to an occupied house, mouth-watering aromas emanating from the kitchen, regular sex with someone who considered her needs. While it was new and exciting it seemed wonderful, but once the initial glitter wore off it was… dull. Six months and she'd been bored (House's words echoed in her head). He started pressing for them to move in together. She said she wasn't ready, in fact, she'd gone past ready to ready to call it a day. Except she didn't want to hurt him, he hadn't done anything wrong, he was still nice, she was just **bored**. She tried to demur but he persisted.

She started avoidance tactics -- late meetings, oncall, extra hours, lots of excuses – he hadn't taken the hint. It was worse, he'd been understanding, so supportive, her job was important blah, blah, blah. She'd finally realised that what she was doing wasn't fair. She could buy most of the 'services' he was providing… apart from the sex and, no doubt, she could have bought that too, but that really didn't appeal. That was just too… too… Anyway, she used her professional skills in her private life and told him, ruthlessly, that it was over. The worm had turned, of course -- cold, calculating, rigid, obsessive -- just a few of the words she remembered (although he was almost unmemorable), too focused on getting somewhere to pay attention to those around her.

She supposed some people might have just settled into the easy existence. Settle down… Lisa Cuddy had never settled for anything – although adoption was a compromise, a sort of settling down given the circumstances. Should she compromise to get a man in her life too? Well, relationships were always a compromise but… what was that cliché? 'You don't marry the one you can live with you marry the one you can't live without'. Whatever compromise she made it would not be for the nice guy.

But, whatever bad guy she went for had to have some redeeming features, she didn't want a constant battle, that wouldn't be fair to Rachel. Whatever compromises she made, she had to be loved, not just wanted and lusted after – that would never last either. And bad boys could love, even House had loved and he wasn't the sort of man to admit that just to get a sex life or because it's what the woman wanted to hear. On the other hand, she couldn't imagine him saying it until he knew he was loved back, until he felt secure. Unfortunately, neither would she. What a pair they made. Damn the man! Damn him for keep making her revisit her decisions. Damn him for…. Just damn him!

What happened in House's office -- did they always have to interact like that? No doubt to the casual observer it would be unresolved sexual tension – no, to the casual observer they hated each other… which they did, but it was more than that because there were times when they… admired and respected each other… Okay, admit it to yourself Lisa, there's some unresolved sexual tension… on your side. What about House? He did want her, but he never really acted on it. He just danced around the edges poking at her. He knew she 'had the hots' for him. He must know how she felt, such a keen observer, even though she kept her feelings well hidden… he did know, didn't he? But did nothing about it. Why? The same reasons she didn't do anything about it? Don't be ridiculous he's a man. He would take advantage of that – House was an opportunistic dog. So, why hadn't he taken advantage? Same reason he'd avoided her after that night at college no doubt, and now things were far more complicated.

Many thought he did take advantage at work, mistook her management off him as too lenient, that her judgement was compromised but House always had problems with authority – she just understood his motivations better and tried to direct them. She failed occasionally, but he was brilliant and he did save lives that others had given up on. He was there in a crisis… did that apply to his personal life? In his personal life he just seemed… needy. So, what was she? Break glass in case of emergency? Did she use him the same way?

Professionally, she used him or tried to use him to do clinic duty with various degrees of success. He hated clinic – the everyday 'boring' cases but pulled out all the stops for a patient once his interest was engaged. She used him on difficult cases, many where he was the last gasp chance for the patients. It was picking the ones that would grab his attention that was the tricky bit. Although she didn't often have to brow beat him, unless he was being… difficult. In general, he stepped up to the plate when necessary. Could she extrapolate that to how he would be in a personal relationship?

Under general living conditions? Constant battle – various degrees of success, impact on Rachel, not good… but, on a personal level, she'd have a lot of extra… potential for bribery, extortion and general leverage. Going off House's recent behaviour food, provocative dressing… even company seemed like they'd all work. He'd never admit it… but he had been giving her clues. She surprised herself with that thought then smiled, wickedly, at the possibilities. Then quickly recollected herself -- never likely to happen.

And for personal crises or emergency situations? It probably depended on the crisis, unfortunately. He did seem to make an effort for big issues – he seemed to be there when Wilson needed him, didn't always have the right words but he tried. But, would he be there for her? She'd known House for over 20 years and his track record was patchy with regards to her… wasn't it? IVF help – good, behaviour that got her $100,000 fines – bad, adoption -- bad, losing Joy – good, getting Rachel -- 50/50… maybe she should cut him some slack there. It was a rapid change and he did need to adjust – latterly he'd been trying – very tying but he seemed to be reaching acceptance.

Other occasions? Desk – good, hooker bad. It always came to a staggering halt there. But, he had said he'd 'always been faithful to Stacy', so, perhaps she should stop getting hung up on that. Perhaps she should extrapolate further and pass by that one for now. He'd stepped up for the donations – she wondered how often that would be brought up in an argument. Why did he say he didn't want gratitude? There were other instances when he'd stepped up but could she rely on it? Did she need to? The answer to the latter was yes. She needed to know he'd be there in an emergency – vagaries of fate excluded. She needed to be able to trust him.

How did you learn to trust someone? All to often people just assumed things about other people. They fell head long into love, endowed the new love interest with super human qualities and had a rude awakening when the chips were down and feet were found to be made of clay. Usually time revealed these qualities – that's why she didn't like to rush her relationships… okay, maybe she was eager for the sex – that was in her own self-interest, care should be taken that it didn't cloud your judgement but everything else should be done steadily and carefully.

What were the chances of getting House to proceed cautiously? To keep things to himself for a while until they saw whether it was working or not, until they saw where it was going, whether it could go. Whatever she wanted he'd want the opposite and she couldn't play reverse psychology with him because he'd call her bluff. Could she keep work and private separate if they were together? Could he? Would he? She sighed. There she went again, sidetracked into improbable daydreams when, in reality, she'd be lucky to get things back to normal, or at least a place where she could ask him to do the speech.

Unfortunately, it appeared he didn't want it going back to normal. He'd been trying to change things and it was her who'd put a stop to it. When you stopped to think about that it seemed somewhat ironic that she was the one who appeared defensive about change. But she didn't trust this sudden shift in House's attitude. House was ready to make changes in his life? After all this time? It didn't seem possible, much more likely he was playing games. But to what end? If his 'overtures' were genuine and she'd just rejected them what would she expect him to do? House could be relentless when he wanted something, but he'd backed off. Was his regard so superficial that he just gave up at the first hurdle? Was he thinking about what she said or had he just dismissed it? Did she want him to be thinking about what she said? What if he'd thought about what she'd said and agreed with her? Then he might just move on. That was a rather disconcerting thought. If he moved on because he thought she didn't want him in her life, then there would be no reason for him to go back to normal. Another unwelcome thought.

Still he'd definitely been into the argument with similar, if not the same reactions as her, so was it reasonable to suppose he was still willing, able and available? It could be that the argument had caught him off guard like it had her. Yes, they'd definitely both been caught off guard but that didn't necessarily mean he was still looking to further or even keep her in his life. So why did he save her ass? One thing about House was he was possessive, probably a hang over of his peripatetic childhood as a military brat, repeatedly forming attachments to people and things, then having them whisked away. So, to lose what they'd had should be a change that House would resist. With that in mind, it should be possible to salvage something from this mess. Unfortunately, there were many possibilities and she needed more information – more signs from House – yeah, right and pigs could fly. They could spend several years in this stand-off position.

First things first, get him to do the speech. Unfortunately, to do this she needed at least a partial fix for what was currently broken. She was now down to eight days. What the hell could she offer? She had the weekend to think.


	29. Enough rope to hang yourself

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You never lose by loving. You always lose by holding back.

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She started with Wilson.

"That charity dinner in NY…?"

"No," Wilson said, firmly, before she could finish.

"No?" She queried, not quite sure she knew what he was saying 'no' to. And, hoping he wasn't saying no to what she was going to ask.

"I take it you haven't asked House yet?" Unfortunately, he was. She shook her head.

"He'll refuse. He doesn't let me even get close to the topic."

"Then he's not going to do it because I ask, Cuddy. Use your usual techniques." He waved his hands in her direction trying to emphasize his point, but chickening out from giving the full visual.

"What usual techniques?" She asked sweetly. It didn't look like she was going to have a good day, so she might as well share the discomfort.

"Bribe, bet, bust," he blurted out.

"He wouldn't do it if I offered bed," she said, sarcastically.

"Then you better fix what you broke," he said, unsympathetically.

"I don't think I can." A hint of defeat in her voice. She paced across his office.

"Can't or don't want to?" asked Wilson, refusing to be caring, not quite as much of a struggle as it might have been had he not thought her stubborn streak was partly to blame for the predicament she was in. He hated being in the middle.

"I want it back as it was," she conceded.

"If it's broken it's not going to fix itself or go back to how it was on its own."

"Fix it? Do you realise how big the cracks would be?" She paced back across the room.

"It was cracked before. Think positively, if you're careful perhaps you can put it back together better than it was before." She was miles from being convinced.

"What if I don't want to fix it?" She walked towards the door to the balcony and stood, staring sightlessly out of the window.

"Then fire him," he said, brutally, hoping to startle her out of her mental loop, paranoia, stubbornness or whatever it was that was stalling her. Probably a combination of all four, he thought, plus an added fifth dimension just to cause obfuscation.

"What if I don't want to fire him?" She spun round to look at him.

"Fix it," he repeated. He wondered how many times she'd had this argument in her head.

"I'll fire him." She strode back to his desk.

"Right, like you won't feel guilty about that at all," he said, exasperation creeping into his voice.

"He's trying to manipulate me." She put forward as a reason, when it would be lucky to pass as an excuse. Kettle, pot thought Wilson. However, he didn't think he'd ever seen her this agitated. Frustrated, irate, worried, annoyed, anxious, exasperated, angry -- yes. All together sometimes, but agitated? This was obviously some combination of House and personal he'd never seen in her before.

"Cuddy, you've sent him to a very dark place."

"I'm sure he'll lighten the place up with a hooker or two." She waved her hand dismissively.

"He is not faking this," he persisted. She looked annoyed and sceptical at the same time. "Are you sure whatever he said he meant and he wasn't just being an idiot?" he tried. She went back to pacing his office.

"He was a jerk," she said. Wilson looked astounded.

"He's always a jerk. You ignore jerk. You like jerky. You deal with jerk."

"He brought it to a whole new level." Back she went pacing the other way. Wilson was practically dizzy.

"Really?" he said, with the merest hint of scepticism in his voice.

"Yes. No." She stopped pacing and turned to look at Wilson. "He apologised. He even sounded sincere."

"I think I must be missing something," said Wilson, confused.

"He wants a relationship and it's inappropriate," she finally admitted.

"You thought this since…?" She gave him an evil look. He carried on giving her the inquisitive look.

"I now have Rachel."

"And…?" Back to pacing he noticed.

"House and kids..?" she said, as if that explained everything.

"What about them?" asked Wilson, slightly puzzled.

"He's hardly an appropriate role model." She looked at him as if he were an idiot.

"House relates to kids, he practically is one. They accept him where adults don't." Wilson was not buying her argument.

"I know, but children need love – House doesn't do love and affection or support."

"Doesn't he?" Wilson played devil's advocate.

"Are you telling me he does?" Cuddy countered, stopping her pacing to stare at him.

"I just wondered how you knew he didn't."

"He's miserable. He never opens up. He interacts with people through manipulation. He always thinks the worst case scenario."

"Doesn't mean he can't be supportive… or that he can't love."

"And the affection?"

"Two outta three ain't bad," he shrugged. "Better that than all words and no action." She looked disbelieving. "He hasn't helped you adapt to Rachel? Just made your life more miserable and difficult? Or, maybe, it's just this last month that he hasn't been supportive?" He poked in all the soft places. Cuddy looked a little uncertain but continued doggedly.

"Well, it just goes to prove…"

"Prove what?" Wilson interrupted. "That he's a miserable bastard when he's hurting? Or do you forget that House has feelings that he keeps at the bottom of a very deep, dark hole which, by the way, he's currently digging so deep he's in danger of hitting magma?"

"He's… toxic. That's bad enough for an adult but for a child?"

"He doesn't manipulate children. I don't think he even lies to them."

"He's jealous of Rachel."

"I don't think he is jealous of her specifically. He may be jealous of the attention you give her. Maybe hates that she interrupts any time he speaks with you, but…"

"He could behave like an adult," she interrupted.

"Are you sure he wasn't trying to do that when you cut him out of your life?" Wilson saw the guilt flash across her face.

"I didn't… He doesn't want the responsibility. He wants to do what he wants to do when he wants to do it. I don't want Rachel getting to know him and… like him, then have him let her down. It wouldn't be fair," she said. Wilson nodded as if agreeing.

"Then fire him." Cuddy looked shocked.

"That's not the advice I'd expect from you, Wilson."

"According to your definition he's an unreliable, dishonest, selfish, childish, manipulative, jealous jerk. Not the sort of person you want on staff let alone in your private life, therefore understandable that you don't want to fix your… estrangement. So, fire him. You'll feel guilty, but you'll get over it when life is so much simpler," he said, relentlessly.

"That… wouldn't be very objective of me. Just because I don't want him in my private life doesn't mean I don't want him in the hospital. He's a brilliant doctor."

"Cuddy, he's not something you can keep in a box and bring out when he's needed."

"I know that!"

"Then you need to deal with him on a personal level." Wilson was uncompromising. Cuddy looked mulish, then her shoulders slumped and her face registered acceptance.

"I know, but he won't meet me half way."

"Yes, he will. It's just his definition of half way and yours are miles apart."

"How do I start to fix it? He won't even talk to me." Finally, thought Wilson, the reason she came here.

"You know when I said he was hanging on to your coattails?" he asked. She nodded.

"Well, you knocked him off." She frowned for a moment.

"I need to go back and get him?" she asked. Wilson nodded.


	30. Triumph of hope over experience

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Girls have an unfair advantage over men: if they can't get what they want by being smart, they can get it by being dumb -- Yul Brynner

.

Cuddy stood outside House's apartment door and tried to calm herself. She could hear the piano. This was good. This was as she expected, what she had discussed with Wilson. This was simpler than trying to get House to her home. Even so, timing was everything. There was no point knocking, he'd slam the door in her face. She couldn't wait in his apartment until he came home, the minute he saw her he'd just turn around and leave. Either wait until he's in bed or settled for the night, preferably with a drink at his piano, Wilson had counselled. In either case, the distance from his cane and how far he'd have to go to try to walk out on her should deter him from making the attempt and allow her time to say something to get his attention – preferably in the form of a dialogue. She'd have his attention when she walked into his apartment, but not the good kind. She needed to get him talking, not shouting, not hurling insults, just talking. Once she got through his door, there was nothing she could plan for. How House would react, what he would say – it could go a hundred different ways. She'd just have to wing it… against the master winger.

"Don't be subtle, just do a straight forward appeal to his better self." Wilson had said.

"Good idea. Just one small flaw, he hasn't got a better self," she'd replied.

"Possibly not, but at least you'll open a channel of communication."

"How do I stop him throwing me out?"

"Cuddy, use your imagination or, more to the point, think like House. He wouldn't physically throw you out. He'll intimidate. He'll use words. Ignore the first angry barrage until you can get a word in edgeways and convince him to talk."

Simple. No problem. Especially as her focus would be getting him to do the speech, whereas House's focus would be on anything but. Unfortunately, she couldn't get passed the immediate problem to what the hell they would do in the future. Presuming there was a future.

She took another steadying breath and felt for the key above the door, where Wilson had said to look. She double-checked herself again and picked up Rachel's carrier. She'd had to bring her because she couldn't arrange a baby sitter. She didn't think House would physically do anything to harm Rachel and, if she waited for everything to be in place, it would never happen. Apart from which she was part of the problem they had to fix. Provocative move maybe but no point pretending she didn't exist.

One more quick rehearsal in her head then it was now or never. Key in the lock, quietly open the door, make sure not to bang the carrier on the door frame, key out, close door gently. The piano was still playing. She took another deep breath. One quick, smooth move and she was in his living room before House knew she was even there. So far, so good. The music stopped. House was shocked at seeing her which gave her another second to quickly walk half way across the room, and put down Rachel's carrier while he was still at the piano.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, in a dangerously controlled voice. She opened her mouth to speak but House continued. "That was a rhetorical question. What I actually meant was, leave now before this gets nasty." He got up from the piano and came limping towards her.

"I need to talk to you." She pulled a dish out of the bag she was carrying and held it in both hands in front of her.

"Nothing to talk about. You made that quite clear. Now go," he said loudly, as he walked right up to her and pointed towards the door. He leaned over her, trying to intimidate her. She gulped but held her ground.

"Please don't shout, you'll wake Rachel," she hissed, quietly.

"Then you shouldn't have brought the little bastard," he hissed back, more loudly. Okay, so she knew this was House at his worst. He'd told her that she sucked at being a mother when he was physically hurting, now he was emotionally hurting. Tempted though she was to walk away she had to ignore it. It was part of the first barrage, like Wilson said. It wasn't personal as such, he was using personal information to try to get his own way which was to get her to leave because he was angry.

"I brought a peace offering." She proffered up the bowl.

"Peace us?" he said, echoing their conversation from her kitchen, but this time said with a cruel edge. "And we already have a truce – we are to ignore each other. You have broken the truce." He enunciated deliberately and louder than was necessary.

"It's a parley offering then. I want to renegotiate." She tried to keep her voice even.

"You only want to do that because you want me to give a speech at a NY charity dinner. Well, it's not going to happen," he said, scathingly. She closed her eyes, briefly. Of course he knew. Well, at least she didn't have to lead up to it and look even more manipulative than she already did. She swallowed and met his eyes with hers.

"I do need you to speak but that's not the only reason I'm here."

"Liar," he yelled back. She quickly glanced at Rachel who snuffled but didn't wake.

"Please keep your voice down," she tried to say it calmly, but there was a slight waver in her voice.

"This is the 'lets be friends talk' and the ohh, by the way, as a friend, speak and make the hospital lots of money – NO."

"Just forget the speech for the moment. We can't work together like this."

"Your choice. I'm doing what you asked."

"I know. You were right." He didn't have to interpret her quite so literally but she held her tongue on that. She was trying to make peace here.

"Oh, don't try to placate me. Or polish my ego, if that's where you're going next." If he'd had his cane he'd be waving it about – sabre rattling. She ignored the looming, arm waving and other implied threats. He might try to physically manhandle her out of the apartment but that would be his last resort. Wilson was right.

"I'm trying to apologise."

"Not interested. Now GO." They'd be rubbing noses if he got any further into her face.

"Don't shout."

She saw him take a deep breath. The son of a bitch was going to yell at top decibels. She was not going to let him get away with it. The next thing she knew the peace offering was in House's face. Or, more to the point, on House's face.

As always with that sort of situation, cold reality quickly set in and the possible ramifications flitted through her mind, and, as it was House, her life also flashed before her eyes. Slowly, she pulled the bowl away revealing a chocolate mousse covered face. She expected an explosion but House was scarily still and quiet. She let out a breath she hadn't realised she was holding. She scraped the mousse away from his eyes with a thumb, then absent-mindedly put it in her mouth and sucked. House opened his eyes and made contact with hers.

"I'm sorry, but you weren't listening," she said. A blob was forming on the end of his chin and she tentatively reached up to wipe it off then sucked it off her a finger. House continued to look at her silently, blinking slowly. She took another fingerful. House seemed transfixed. His eyes focused on her mouth… ohh.

"It's good. You should try it."

House licked his lips and swallowed, then licked as far as his tongue would reach. She smiled slightly at the sight. She reached up and ran a finger from the bridge of his nose down. She stopped at his mouth offering it to him. He stared at her.

"I haven't got cooties and whatever germs I've got we've exchanged with a kiss… and a spoon, last time we ate mousse. We lived to tell the tale."

"That's a doctor's finger, it could have been anywhere." Finally, he spoke. She sucked her finger clean took another fingerful from his cheek and offered it to him again.

"Now you know where it's been." Still he did nothing. "I'm not doing the aeroplane noises."

"What kind of mother are you?" He took her finger into his mouth and sucked, twirling his tongue around. It tickled and she giggled. She saw House almost smile back. She repeated the 'clean up' a few more times, alternating mouthfuls with House.

"Cuddy, I admire your ingenuity, although a lap dance would have got my… co-operation quicker. And I admit that one fingerful at a time will give you a significant amount of time but if you don't start talking you're going to run out of mousse. Just bite the bullet and say what you came to say."

"I need you to give the speech."

"No."

"It's not an option, House. It's a contractual agreement. I 'need' you to give the speech."

"Can't make me. That's your agreement, well, Hacker's not mine. You should have kept a closer eye on him." Another exchange of mousse.

"You're right. But that doesn't help the situation. I'm appealing to your better nature."

"Don't have one."

"Yes, you do. I'm also… our current interactions are not working. You were right...again. I'd like it to go back to how it was." Another exchange of mousse. He shook his head.

"Can't do that."

"House…" she started.

"The paradigm has changed, we can't go back. You need to speed this up, it's starting to run down my neck. I think you should lick the rest off." He attempted a leer but chocolate coatings hide a multitude of sins and the only thing it elicited was a smile from Cuddy.

"You wouldn't get any," she pointed out.

"There's still some in the bowl, that's all mine."

"House, that's not… I'm not…" She stopped and took a deep breath. "I'm just trying to go back to how things were."

"So you said, but it can't. It won't. Like if you wore one of my t-shirts it would be stretched in all the wrong places, it can't go back to how it was. The choices would be to wear it baggy, throw it away or give it to you. But, which ever way you choose, it's not the same."

"Your t-shirts would drown me. I wouldn't stretch them anywhere."

"Want to put it to the test," he queried.

"Erm... I'll just go with the analogy. I could buy you a new one."

"I'd rather buy my own."

"Since when? You're practically a kleptomaniac."

"It would still be my choice."

"You choose and I'll pay," she wheedled, although not quite sure where this was getting her in the 'let's be friends' negotiation.

"We're still talking t-shirt here, right, and not whore? Just checking. So, a brand new t-shirt that's got to be worn in…hmm. I think I'd rather stick with the old t-shirt, but what to do about its sagginess?"

"Wash it on a hot wash and shrink it. Then it'll fit you better."

"True, it would shrink but that would just make it a tight fit, it would still be misshapen. I'll have to throw it away then."

"No!" His head tilted slightly to the side as he contemplated her sharp response.

"You want to keep it for sentimental reasons?" he asked.

"No." The reasons she wanted to keep it were many and various, with the main ones being those she wouldn't even admit to herself, but sentimentality was not one of them. He studied her a bit longer.

"This stuff running down my neck is very uncomfortable. If you're not going to lick it off I'll have to go wash it off." He limped to the bathroom. She followed, her mind churning furiously. He ran water into the basin. He glanced in the mirror and saw her leaning against the door frame.

"Have you thought any of this through? Or did you just think we'd 'talk', a miracle would happen and I'd happily trot off to the dinner to do your bidding?"

"How could I plan it? Your responses were unpredictable. I was hoping a rational argument would be effective. Even you can't think the present paradigm is working."

"Rational argument… so, you think your arguments from before are invalid? I do consider consequences, I don't cheat on girlfriends, I'm not untrustworthy and manipulative, I'm not a selfish, ego-centric, curmudgeonly, miserable cynic. I should be in your life and your child's. You want me to meddle in your life. You think I can be friends with a woman, therefore I am someone you could have a relationship with? We going for third time lucky?" She was speechless, mouth flapping like a fish out of water. "Didn't think so." He pulled his t-shirt over his head, threw it in the bath and turned back round to the basin.

Cuddy was fairly sure at this point that once he washed off the mousse that would be the end of this 'dialogue'. Her heart hammered in her chest.

"I was expecting to work on the points one at a time rather than en masse," she said.

He looked at her in the mirror. "We going to kiss and make-up? Then, out of sheer relief at being in your good books, I agree to do the speech… doesn't seem likely, does it? Perhaps we go the hot, angry make-up sex route. Then, at a suitable moment, when a man will say yes to anything you utter those three little words 'do the speech'" She opened her mouth to refute, deny, anything but nothing came out. "Oh, a friend would help you out here, right? Give you a clue what to say? The latter method is more likely to work…" he thought for a moment. "Scratch that, would work."

"There will be no sex." She managed to find her voice to nip that idea in the bud.

He put his hands in the water. She was galvanised into moving forward. Her hand touched his back. He jumped. She jumped. His eyes snapped to hers in the mirror but of course he was now blocking the view as she was right behind him. He turned slightly so he could see her face. "Then there's nothing in it for me."

"Is that all you can think about?" She watched, as if mesmerised, as her hand stroked his back. Little circles to start with. His back was warm and twitched under her touch. "The physical side of a relationship is all you want?"

He turned. She allowed her hand to remain in touch with his skin as he turned. Her hand now on his chest as she stared in fascination at the chocolaty rivulets running down his neck and chest as the heat of his body turned the mousse runny.

"If you want me to say I'm only interested in your mind, you're out of luck. However, if you didn't have the mind you've got we wouldn't be having this conversation. If you want to reconsider the licking it off we'll talk some more."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"What, the talking?"

"No, the licking."

"Can't have one without the other."

"Why not?"

"My apartment, my rules." He bent down to give her easier access. She squirmed. What else could she do? She'd come here with nothing to bargain with. She'd have to cave. However, she didn't have to do it meekly. He saw what he thought was acquiescence and pointed to a rivulet on his chest.

"I repeat. There will be no sex," she stated. He pouted.

"This is my apartment there will be sex if I want it." He paused, long enough to see her indignation rise. "… not with you obviously."

She gave a resigned sigh. "This gives a whole new meaning to cleaning house."

She leaned forward, then suddenly, a wicked smile appeared on her face. Sensing a threat he tried to dodge but she grabbed his face between her hands. He looked wary.

"You asked for it," she said, moving forward to the point where she couldn't focus then stepped out of her usual role to tempt fate. She licked under his chin moving up to tempt him to open his mouth before rapidly licking the end of his nose at which point he flinched away.

"What?" She asked, smirking.

"Ha, ha," he said, before grabbing her head and putting his forehead against her with a squish.

"House!" She tried to wriggle out of his hold. He rubbed his cheek along hers then released her.

"You're such a child," she grumbled. He smiled.

"Yeah, and you're so much more grown up -- you've got this fluffy, adolescent, romantic girly view of relationships, when you know the reality is much more hot, sweaty, animalistic grunting. You want me to lick it off?"

In answer, she reached for the flannel, wiped her face clean, rinsed the cloth and turned to him.

"It's okay, I'll do it," he said. "Actually, I might need a shower – any chance of you giving me a hand?"

"Stick your head under the faucet; I'll turn the cold water on." She smiled sweetly. He sighed dramatically.

"When you say back, are you talking back as in back to when as you were dressed as you are now?" He waved his hand from her neck to her knees. "Bum covering jumper, jeans, accessorized with chocolate mousse to complete the ensemble. Or, are you talking back before that?" He turned back to the basin.

"What difference does it make?"

"Because, if we are going back too far, I'm not interested. You could go get me a clean t-shirt." He splashed his face with water trying to wash off the mousse.

"Too far?" She asked with a puzzled frown.

"I'm willing to go topless if there's reciprocity." He gave her a hopeful look. She returned him an exasperated, evil stare before going in search of a t-shirt.


	31. Groundhog Day strike 1

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My understanding of women goes only as far as the pleasures. (Alfie, 1966)

*.*.*.*.*.*.

.

"So, is this some sort of Groundhog day?" House asked, now demoussed and reshirted. They were sitting on his couch, as far apart as the physical restraints of the couch allowed. "We going to keep trying this until we get it right?"

"Right for whom? We both want different things."

"You don't always get what you want…" For a moment she thought he was being dismissive, then another thought occurred to her. Miraculously, she was still in his apartment, they were sat on his couch, he was still talking and mentioning getting it right. So, was he toying with her or was there a genuine possibility he'd do the speech… if she found the magic words.

"..but if you try sometimes, you might get what you need?" She tried. His eyes lit up in appreciation. Still no guarantee he wasn't toying with her but at least he was still playing. "I need you to do the speech. You need your job."

"And you need your job, those two cancel each other. That's why we're 'talking'." He air quoted. "And talking makes me thirsty. Where's my drink?" He glanced over to the piano, got up and walked to the kitchen to get another glass. "Wine or bourbon?" he called out.

"Water, please."

"I'm out of water. Wine or Bourbon?"

"House, I'm driving." He poked his head through the kitchen door, well, the opening where the kitchen door would be if it was shut.

"Not at the moment you aren't. Unless you think the couch is a bus and you're practising your acting skills." He waved the glass in the air and gave her a questioning look. She sighed in exasperation.

"Fine. Wine then."

"See, you can reconcile two opposing positions." He ducked back into the kitchen allowing her to scowl at the empty space. He came back with a glass of red wine for her and picked his bourbon up from the piano. He took a sip then went to light the fire placing his glass on the table as he went. Cuddy watched him in some confusion for a few minutes.

"What are you doing?"

"Lighting the fire." Ask a silly question, she thought.

"Why are you lightening the fire?"

"Because I want to. Because I wouldn't want the rug rat to get cold. Because I'm trying to create a warm, cosy atmosphere the better to talk to you. Because I'm playing with your head. Which one goes with the House you think I am?"

"The selfish and the jerk ones," she responded, almost without thinking.

"That's all of them then." He walked over to his hi-fi.

"What?" Was her somewhat uninspired response. Then after another thought she settled back, cradled her drink and awaited the Housian response, thinking this ought to be good.

"The first and fourth ones go without saying. The second one -- wouldn't want her getting cold and waking up she'd start making noises or crying – I wouldn't want that -- so for selfish reasons. Warm, cosy atmosphere – lulling you into a mellow mood to get what I want and if that doesn't work then you'd be feeling uncomfortable which means I win on the jerk vote."

She snorted and waved a hand in acceptance of his explanation with a small ironic smile.

"Or," he continued. "They could all be for altruistic reasons." She gave another snort of laughter and sipped her drink.

"Enlighten me, O voluble one."

"I might genuinely not want Rachel to get cold. I might genuinely want you to feel more at home so we can talk. I might be pretending to play with your head to make the situation more familiar. All of which means I want to for unselfish reasons." He searched his cd collection as he replied.

"Careful you don't bite your tongue while it's in your cheek. The latest research suggests that altruism is hard-wired into the brain and is beneficial to general wellbeing, that it's such a primitive response even monkeys exhibit it. However, you are probably the exception that proves the rule. Of course, doing altruistic things triggers the hormones that stimulate the brain's pleasure centre so, from that point of view, it would make such acts selfish."

"You're barking up the wrong tree if you think that sort of logic is going to get me to do more altruistic things like, oh I don't know, maybe give speeches. I can think of far better ways of stimulating my pleasure centre." He gave up looking for a cd, plugged his ipod in and pressed play. Queen's 'Fat Bottomed Girls started playing. She rolled her eyes. He sat back down on the couch and picked up his drink. "Here's one way," he said, taking a gulp. "I could give you other demonstrations."

"As the words dance, lap and sex, not necessarily in that order, are bound to appear in anything else you might say on the matter, I'll pass thanks." He smirked. "And where does the music fit into this altruism?"

"Well, I'm at home. We're on my time. I like listening to music when I'm at home. It helps me relax. You don't think it adds to the general ambience? Helps you feel more relaxed?" She snorted. He listened to music on work time too, but she'd let that pass for the moment.

"No, it just makes me wonder what you're up to."

"I thought we could try the rhythm method? Jewish girls know about the rhythm method, right?

"That's where the piano comes between us?"

"Noooo, more like the hokey cokey… in, out, in, out, you shake it all about." She shook her head in amused disbelief.

"Again, I'll pass," she said.

"Still regard that as sex, huh? Do you know that 44% of Californian teenagers take the presidential view of sex -- that oral sex is not intercourse? 33% think they're still chaste after touching genitals while 14% think anal sex counts as within the boundaries of abstinence. So…"

"We are not teenagers, we're in New Jersey and we're doctors. We are not going to discuss the technicalities of what is and what is not sex. We are only going to discuss you doing the speech which, as you're being altruistic, shouldn't take long at all." She tried to bring House back to the point, in the hope of a quick resolution, to get home before nine, giving her chance for a relaxing bath before she went to bed.

"I thought we were going to talk about our current interactions not working? As you are here in your non work attire, you brought mousse and the milk sucker, I was assuming by interactions you were referring to our personal interactions and not our work interactions. Then, if you've talked me into a different set of personal interactions, next time we're at work you subtly mention the speech and try to manipulate me into going."

Elton John's 'Sorry seems to be the hardest word' started playing.

When Cuddy recognised the tune she huffed.

"What?" he asked, innocently.

"Did you plan this? Very subtle."

"Plan what? The music? It's on random play. Just your guilty conscience twinging if you detect a significance."

"Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said."

"Yes, you did," said House implacably.

"It was misdirected frustration."

"You should get laid then." She rolled her eyes. Back to sex, she thought, does he really have such a one track mind?

"I'll take that under advisement." She glanced round his apartment, no he doesn't, she thought. So that response was either because he was trying to keep her off balance, deflecting by reflex, or deliberately trying to provoke her. "Can't you cut me a bit of slack here?"

House seemed to consider this, sipped his drink, then half nodded as if agreeing.

"Okay, so you didn't mean it? Taking the points one at a time this time rather than en masse, you don't think I'm a selfish, ego-centric, curmudgeonly, miserable cynic?" Sneaky bastard was going to make her fight her own words. She couldn't outright deny them, or fudge them. House wouldn't allow for social niceties. He was looking for honesty, anything else and he'd accuse her of hypocrisy.

"You think you aren't?" She asked, trying to avoid the question.

"I think there's more to me than that," he said. She gave an inquisitive look. "I'm a brilliant, selfish, ego-centric, curmudgeonly, miserable cynic."

"That's true," she acknowledge, with a small smile.

"You don't want me to stop meddling in your life?" Was his next question. Oh God, she thought, is he going to throw everything I said to him that night back at me?

"I do want you to stop meddling. I don't necessarily not want you in my life." She tried not to breath out a sigh of relief when House seemed to accept that answer.

"I always consider the consequences of my actions?"

"No, you don't." There was no way to agree with that statement, but maybe she could mitigate the answer. "For someone who over analyses everything, notices so much, plots and schemes as much as you do, you sometimes miss the big things… you… Okay, I did mean what I said. Where are you going with this?"

"Back. You said go back to my usual MO but now you'd like it to go back to how it was… so did we get here by doing two backs? Does that mean we're going in circles so even if we go forward we still end up here… or there? I'm confused. Is this some sort of girly logic my poor male brain is destined never to understand?" he asked, with his poor confused boy look. She was going to kill him.

"Do you have a mallet?" She asked, sweetly.

"Mallet? Nooo." At least the apparent non-sequitur appeared to have confused him, if only momentarily.

"Shame, because I was thinking a short, sharp knock to the head might knock some sense into you."

"Going dominatrix on me, Cuddy? Going to drag me to the dinner in chains?" Oh, the possibilities, she thought.

"You giving me ideas?"

"I shouldn't think so. Course, if you used a ball gag I wouldn't be able to speak anyway, so better give that idea a miss."

"No ball gag, got it. But the chains… that's definitely something to bear in mind. And whips, mustn't forget those." Then she snapped. "You understand perfectly well what the problem is, House, and don't tell me you haven't been thinking about it, because I know you. Why all this circling round the subject? Just tell me your terms!" House was unfazed and unperturbed.

The song changed to 'Change of Heart' by Cyndi Lauper.

"Groundhog moments. We're circling because we keep going back. If we go forward we'll probably also circle back, so I think we need to find a way to go sideways then we can get into a different circle, but a circle we might like better."

"Change? You? Okay, sideways. Tell me your plan of action so we can move on." He shook his head. She was going to throttle him.

"Can't just plough ahead like that. I need to double check my findings, wouldn't want to assume anything then take action without thinking of the consequences," he said, with a straight face. After she'd throttled him she was going to chop him into teeny tiny pieces… make that verb hack.

"Fine. Just tell me your terms!"

"You see, you're still talking about the speech, but I'm not. You're still doing this work thing. This boss employee thing."

She rested her head in her palms. Of course he wasn't going to move on until he had an answer to whatever was bothering him. Think Lisa, what's eating him. What had he been saying? Administrator Cuddy kicked in. House seeded his conversations with red herrings, half truths, innuendo, flat out lies, misdirections, lies hidden in truths, deflections – somewhere in there was a clue. Administrator Cuddy rolled up her metaphorical sleeves. Discard all sexual references. What was left? Groundhog day, not work, personal, fire, music, drink, altruism, current interactions, usual MO, circles, two backs, sideways… not interested in back too far…

"Back…" she muttered. "Back!" She tried to sound exasperated but probably sounded more relieved. What from that disastrous evening did he want back, another shot at and something he wanted to take forward? "The bets and game playing? Or the relationship thing?" she tried.

"Sort of… in a sideways rather than a back direction." Naturally, it would be more than one thing, it would be several things all tied into a knot. The bets and game playing probably went without saying, so…

"You want a date?"

"No. No, no, no. Cameron blackmailed me that way, we are not going that route." She believed that, but he was looking uncomfortable so she must be getting close.

"So you want a non date?"

"No," he said, sharply, then started to hedge. "Well, I mean we can go out, not on a date, you know, if you want, just sort of… out… somewhere or we could stay in…" She'd never seen him so awkward, he always covered himself, used deflections, played his game perfectly. A well practised role. Her brain stuttered as she realised he was trying to step outside that role. He was almost cute when he was out of his depth… almost. Her words of that night came back to her.

"As in just hanging out? Making friends? Spending quality time together?"

"Errrmm. Friend… not the enemy, not hostile, supporter… confident… you don't think we're friends?" House's face contorted with the turmoil of having to reveal even a small part of himself.

Bull's eye. She hesitated. It was a good question. Not as simple as it sounded. Of all the things she'd said this was the one that House was focusing on, well, focusing on first. It didn't mean he'd abandoned the others. But the mere fact he must have actually considered what she'd said, was jaw dropping. Unfortunately, she didn't have time to think about that now, House needed an answer. Deserved an answer. As he was already out of his comfort zone, if she delayed too long he'd revert to jerk. She tried to answer as honestly as possible.

"In some strange twisted way, yes we are. But, also in some strange twisted way, we are combatants. You're also an inveterate gossiper, using you as a confidant would be like putting water in a sieve – not only is it useless, it splatters all over the place." House's face registered confused hurt.

"I'm good at keeping secrets… except from Wilson, about me. He can read me too well."

"Yes, you're clam-like about your own personal information, about how you feel, but with anybody else's you either yell it out in reception or start some outrageous rumour." House's eye's flickered with mischief, acknowledging her point.

"Like I did about your IVF attempts?"

"Alright, give you that one, but that was an exception, one I appreciated but I can't trust you to always keep personal information private."

"Ah, trust. Tricky one. So we can't be friends?" His head cocked to the side in enquiry. She could feel the mood slip back into their usual bantering mode with much relief on both sides.

"With friends like you who needs enemies?"

"So I'm the enemy?"

"No! You're a thorn in my side. How come you can do the grand gestures, go to all the effort of getting the donations but, doing a simple thing like giving a speech, is a big issue?"

"I'm sure there's a bit of small print about encouraging donors in my contract," he parried.

"There's also a lot of small print about attending symposiums, teaching, doing clinic, etc., etc. that you ignore," she groused back.

"You've had weeks to arrange another attendee for the dinner."

"Believe me, I have chased every possible alternative to actually having you go."

"Why?" He almost looked insulted.

"Why? Apart from the fact you'd say no? And if you didn't say no you'd have so many hoops for me to jump through it would be the equivalent of saying no."

"So, I didn't disappoint you're expectations. Then again, I said no but you're still here?"

"I was hoping a rational argument would sway you – you always say no first and have to be cajoled into it. One of these days I'm going to say 'Would you like a raise?' and your going to say no by reflex only to realise a nanosecond later, when your thinking brain catches up, that you should have said yes.

"Not necessarily – there'd probably be a catch. What's your rational argument again?"

"Keep your job," she said. After she'd chopped him up she was going to feed the pieces to the ducks. Or was that cruel to ducks?

"You're threatening to fire me?" He was toying with her. He was leaning back into the cushions, perfectly relaxed, enjoying himself. Throttling was too good for him – boiling in oil… slowly.

"No. I think Hacker will fire you."

"I have tenure," he said, dismissively.

"He'll be signing your pay cheques."

"Still not agreeing." House refused to be cajoled. She sighed.

"Sometimes you're particularly dense when it comes to your own self interests," she said, frustration edging her tone.

"So you're still here because?"

"Because I'm hoping that sense will prevail. I know that you know that it's the only sensible course of action, so I'm waiting for you to stop pissing about and Give. Me. Your. Terms."

"I gave you my terms," he said, nonchalantly.

The song changed to 'Mr. Bad Guy' by Freddie Mercury.

Metaphorically, there was a screeching, graunching sound followed by a thwack as Cuddy's brain came to a dead stop. Fortunately, it was temporary; it restarted with a meaningful 'what?'. WHAT? Cuddy racked her brain.

"What… the non date?" she asked, with a cautious, puzzled expression.

"Or the hot, angry make-up sex," he suggested casually. Her expression changed to one of disgust.

"No. Pick something else, something work related. This is not a personal issue," she said, in her best staccato voice.

"Then why are we discussing it on personal time?" He took a sip of his drink.

"Because we had a personal problem that was interfering with work and…" She was interrupted by House.

"… a work issue that's interfering with our personal time. We should be concentrating on our personal problems now and discuss the work problem tomorrow at work." He sounded so reasonable. She knew he was being deliberately provocative.

"Right, okay. You're right. Our personal and work lives are intertwined, but that's no reason not to try and keep them separate where we can."

"So, that's a sort of yes to the hanging out together?" Good Lord, he wanted something more than a tacit agreement? Well, that was useful. She fiddled with her earring and adopted a coy expression.

"I'm not doing the hanging out together," she stressed the 'together' before he made a comment about her boobs, "until you agree to the speech."

"You should be grovelling at my feet, promising to indulge my every whim, enticing me with lack of clinic duty, begging me to entertain coma guy, bribing me with free meals, offering me a raise, a bigger office, shorter skirts, lower cut tops, lap dances…"

"A week off clinic," she butted in.

"Not a chance. No sex? No lap dance? What else you got?" His head tilted slightly in enquiry.

"Two weeks."

"What out of ideas? I get visitation rights to the twins." He gesticulated in the general direction of her boobs.

"Leave my body parts out of this."

"Well, then…" he mused.

"And your body parts. Unless it involves me slicing bits off." She nixed any ideas in that direction before he could get started.

"There you go again. You always have to resort to violence."

"It's all you understand," she returned.

"I've never threatened you with emasculation, evisceration, disembowelling, knocks on the head or even a spanking," he pointed out. Okay, maybe that had been her but he'd deserved it. She wasn't sure about the spanking. Unfortunately, she couldn't recall an occasion when he had, so she'd have to let that pass.

"Sorry, all you understand is sex and violence."

"Yet you tried a rational argument." Sneaky devil, she thought. Arguing, with him was like trying to pick up a lubricous eel. Not that they were really arguing, however, they weren't agreeing either… could you have a passive argument? Whatever, the best way to deal with an eel was to use a sharp multi-tined eel spear on it.

"And it was futile. Surprise me, be a friend, be altruistic." She smiled, winningly.

He downed his drink, glanced over at her, put his glass down, then leaned towards her…

Her smile stopped, her eyes widened and she let out a gasp of surprise. Her heart rate jumped rapidly. What the hell did he think he was doing? Surely he wasn't going to try... anything? They'd had 'this' conversation.

He leaned closer to her. She leaned back.

Her lips parted in shock. Yes, definitely shock. He was going to try and kiss her. After all his talk of friendship and altruism -- he was going to kiss her. Her anger soared. He was being a typical opportunistic male after all -- just with a more cunning strategy than the typical male. What else could she have expected of him? Well, she wasn't going to let him get away with it. How could he possibly think she'd welcome this? A sliver of logic slipped through the anger. Maybe it was just one of his teases? She wouldn't put it passed him -- better not punch his lights out until she was sure.

He was now so close she couldn't focus on his lips. She'd have to let him kiss her, then slap him. Right? Just a little kiss -- until he'd committed himself. She steeled herself -- that was the right word wasn't it, for when your stomach swirled, your heart pounded, the blood rushed through your ears and your breathing speeded up? Their lips were about to touch when he grabbed the mousse from the side table next to her and sat back on his side of the couch with a smirk.

"Thinking time," he said, taking a mouthful.

Her heart sank as he moved away. She felt… overwhelming disappointment -- she had to admit that to herself. She blushed from chest to forehead – a bright, lobster red. He must be able to feel the heat from here. Even if he had never guessed her feelings before he must know now. He was sat there with a smug expression. Her temper flared up again with the same speed the blush had appeared.

"Still, got this image of you doing this lap dance..." And he stoked the anger nicely.

"Well, that's a surprise," she said, sarcastically. "You're being rather repetitive about the lap dance which is not like you."

"Well, you haven't actually done it yet, except in my mind."

"You want me to do it now? That's your terms?" She asked, with a hint of resignation in her voice, as if teetering on the edge of caving. His eyes widened. He swallowed.

"Hadn't really envisioned it in those clothes. Then again, if you're wearing some interesting underwear… or even no underwear I might consider it… but before you lie to me, I'll want proof."

"What's so special about the one you imagine?" He hesitated. She scented blood. "Can't do it if I don't know the details."

He looked at her curiously, a little warily, but the male impulse and bravado won out.

"You're in this skimpy little school girl's uniform," he started, hesitantly. "Red, plaid skirt, short, white shirt tied under your breasts," he demonstrated with his hands as he described the image, "white stockings, black do-me shoes, pigtails…"

"Thong?" she asked, guilelessly.

"No… white…" he waved his hand about as if it would described what he meant, "frilly knickers. Bra to match." He was looking glazed about the eyes she noticed, gleefully.

"Front opening?"

"Nnnno." Oh good, stuttering, she thought, evilly, while keeping her face passive.

"Then what happens?" She leaned forward and gazed into his face with rapt attention. He licked his lips, his gaze intense.

"You dance… and talk. There's this pole that you twirl round while taking off your clothes," again using his hands to demonstrate. She smiled and encouraged in all the right places, her anger continued to rise.

"I talk?" That was a surprise.

"You multi-task wonderfully. We're doing a differential…" He looked confused himself at that. It just stoked her anger. She's doing a striptease and he's not giving her his full attention – typical.

"How sad is that? Am I always so co-operative in your fantasies?" He completely missed the edge in her voice.

"You're not co-operative! You never finish the dance. You stop just as it's getting interesting… really interesting. I just can't get passed that point… well, two points actually, no matter how loud I yell at you."

"A bit of realism in your dreams."

"I don't want realism in my fantasy. I want compliant…" He stopped, suddenly wary.

"Obedient? Subservient? Not a fantasy about dominatrix Cuddy?" she asked, sweetly.

"No, that's the nightmares," was his rather heartfelt response.

"You know, for someone who prides themselves on their rational mind you spend a lot of time fantasising. You're just as guilty of rationalising your thoughts as everybody else. It's about time you dealt with reality – the real me."

"_You're_ lecturing me on reality?"

"The reality is you can't control me…"

"I know…" he interrupted, only to be interrupted himself.

"I won't have sex with you. I won't do a lap dance for you. We are both in danger of losing our jobs because of your stubbornness while you live some nice life in your head where everything goes the way you want and I indulge your every whim." She punctuated her sentences, with pokes to his chest. He looked like a deer in headlights.

"No, you don't…," he tried, gamely, only to be flattened by the Cuddy steamroller.

"When in reality you're not brave enough to ask me out on a date. All your personal interactions with me are through some sneaky game. You can't even have a fantasy about me without wrapping it round a ddx. You pretend you're part of the game while, really, you're just standing on the sidelines. You've no idea how to deal with a real live woman as opposed to merchandise. Even now, you're so busy trying to play games you won't see the peril we are in …."

"No. I'm…"

"No you're what?" she said, gathering her coat. "Trying to be friends? Then we'd be plotting how to knobble Hacker, instead your aiding his agenda. I'm done. I'm not playing your games. Carry on living your life in your head. You'll have plenty of time for that once Hacker is running the hospital." She stormed for the door.

"Cuddy..." She yanked the door open.

"Cuddy," he said louder. She slammed the door on her way out.

There was a loud wail which didn't register with Cuddy until she was halfway down the hall. She could have kicked the wall in frustration. She dropped her head back to stare at the ceiling and screamed silently. She marched back to House's door. She took a deep breath. Rachel's cry had turned to whimpers. She was about to rap on the door when it opened. House stared at her. She expected all sorts of comments but he said nothing, then sharply handed over Rachel's carrier making his point by practically thrusting it in her face, which caused her to flinch. She took the carrier with a scowl and marched away. She was in her car before she had enough control to make soothing sounds to Rachel.


	32. That was Odd

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The most exciting phrase to hear in science, the one that heralds new discoveries, is not 'Eureka!' but 'That's funny...' Isaac Asimov

*.*.**.

.

House turned back into his apartment and counted to ten, then counted another ten then whether she had gone or not he hit the wall. There was no satisfying crack of plaster but there was a strangled yelp, House's face contorted with the pain and then the stupidity – he really should have done that with his left hand. Correction, he really shouldn't have done that but if he had to do it he should have used his left hand. He cradled his hand and swore – O deary, deary me.*

The music changed to 'Because the Night Belongs to Lovers' by Patti Smith. House scowled in his hi-fi's direction.

He'd been doing so well, he thought. There he was carefully getting them both into position to synchronise when, boom, he'd stepped into one of Cuddy's emotional minefields again. What had he done wrong this time? He must have pushed something too far - again. He always found limits by testing things until they broke but he'd been trying really, really hard not to break this. Obviously, he didn't know his own strength.

Reality? He knew all about reality, didn't he? He was very conversant with reality. He was a doctor. Doctor's made mistakes. Some of those mistakes meant people died. Reality was… a half empty mousse bowl. Reality was Cuddy blowing a gasket, geysers everywhere, much hissing and spitting, before steaming her way out of his apartment. Got to give her points for the exit – magnificent. Just that teeny little hitch at the end but, still, magnificent. And all because he fantasised about her?

What was wrong with having fantasies if you couldn't have what you wanted? Most heterosexual males had fantasies about unobtainable women… some even about obtainable women, the object of their affection. It was healthy. It was normal. It was better than stalking, wasn't it? It's not as if him fantasising about her was new. She'd called him on thinking about her in the shower ages ago. No, it wasn't the fantasising about her that had bugged her… it was the fantasising while doing a differential. Why'd he told her that… apart from the fact it was true? Because she'd prompted for it. And she'd prompted for it because… he wouldn't commit to the speech… hmm.

Had she just reached her breaking point on that? He'd been fairly sure she'd been good for at least another half hour when he reached for the mousse. Wait. Reached for the mousse… he'd invaded her personal space… nothing new there… except… well, he'd wanted to kiss her… nothing new there either… except… several emotions had passed over her face other than irritation… one had even looked inviting… except that couldn't have been right because he'd been verbally dodging her for half an hour before hand… except… she'd gone bright pink afterwards. Why'd she done that? Passion? Desire? Well, he knew he was good, but even he couldn't claim to be that good. Anger? He'd have expected irritation, exasperation, slight annoyance not anger. What was missing? Embarrassment? Cuddy? Well, it was possible but he usual had to work really hard to achieve that and he hadn't even been trying… so…

He shook his head unable to put his finger on it. He sat on his couch and reached for the mousse. A sudden pain in the hand stopped him and he reached for it with the other hand trying not to say stupid, moronic idiot to himself, even though he knew he deserved it. Wait. She was angry with herself? Angry with herself because…? She hadn't stopped him. No hand on his chest. No, sharpish utterance of 'House'. The spoon, half way to his mouth, dropped from suddenly distracted fingers and fell into the bowl, splattering mousse. She was running scared. Lisa Cuddy was running scared. No wonder she was angry and embarrassed. She'd revealed a bit of herself. That look _had_ been inviting and she'd probably promised herself never to let that happen again. She was angry at him and at herself but didn't know who to blame which made her angrier.

Gregory House leaned back into the cushions on his couch and smiled, a big, ear-to-ear grin. This was going to be fun. He looked down at the bowl in his lap made a token effort to wipe some of the mousse off his t-shirt, gave up, picked up the spoon, licked the handle clean and carried on eating the mousse with a happy smile on his face. Oh yes, this was going to be fun.

A/N

* - modified for PG13 board – for the more 'adult' minded insert your own swear words here – author's rhyme along the following lines - shut, wonky, rollocky, suck, pig

And now I'm not on a PG13 board – insert shit, wanky, bollocky, fuck, pig!


	33. Groundhog Day 2

.

A man should live with his superiors as he does with his fire: not too near, lest he burn; nor too far off, lest he freeze. –Diogenes

.

*.*.*.*

.

She was leaning against the reception desk when he walked into work the following morning. There she was bang on time, scrutinising her beloved schedules. It wouldn't surprise him if she scheduled sex. The woman could do with a bit of spontaneity in her life and he was just about to give her a bit – spontaneity that was. None of this 7 to 7:30 feed Rachel, 7:31 to 8 cook & eat dinner, 8:01 to 8:05 make a cup of coffee, 8:06 to 8:25 multi-task drinking coffee with reading medical journal, 8:26 to 8:35 put cup in dishwasher, paranoidly check all doors and windows locked, 8:36 to 8:56 sex, 8:57 to 09:00 post-coital chat, 09:01 sleep etc., etc., etc. The woman was obsessive about her schedules. She probably scheduled time to do her schedules. Well, of course she did – how else did she manage so many schedules?

He hobbled up behind her, more awkward than usual because he had his cane in his left hand, the right hand being too stiff to grip his cane properly. He closed on her until she sensed his presence and her head went up. He fumbled with his back pack to get the bowl out and then shuffled even closer to her before she could turn. He paused just long enough for her eye roll to complete its circuit and just before the irritation factor hit too high a level then slammed the bowl down in front of her. He had the satisfaction of seeing her jump.

"Morning, Gorgon. I demand a refill. And…I want you…" he said, slowly, close to her ear but not quite whispering. He could see from the corner of his eye they were drawing a crowd. Not obviously, just people giving them sideways glances and trying to appear as if they were not listening with all their might.

"Are you out of your mind?" She snapped back. He knew she wanted to turn round but couldn't. He was practically breathing down her neck. The proximity was already embarrassing, if she turned inappropriate bits of body would be touching.

"To take me…" he continued. She spun round despite his proximity, her hand on his chest trying to create distance. He looked down at her hand, his heart skipping a beat at the déjà vu moment, then back up to her face. Ooo, assertiveness at boiling point – excellent, but he did move back slightly.

"… on Friday," he finished, with a mock grin. Although, as he was snorting with laughter on the inside it was almost a faux mock grin. The crowd was starting to circle – less people leaving the reception area than entering it but still trying to look like thy were passing through.

"How many times did you run this little scenario through your head? Is this where I swoon at your feet and..." She stopped, arrested by something she saw in his face. She went from angry to confused. "Friday? Take you where?" What a disappointment, he'd been hoping for a longer rant than that, he must be losing his touch. He'd have to try harder next time.

"To…" he paused. He had no idea where the event was taking place. "Wherever the evening of torture is, Mistress."

"You're going to do the speech?" Oh, wary Cuddy, seeking clarification – not that he blamed her. That really would be a disappointment if she started… what? Trusting him? Other than for medical opinions. Trust was one of her issues dolt brain, he chastised himself, careful how you mess her about.

"If you fulfil my requirements," he returned. There was now an additional audience on the balcony, not that they could hear anything, they were just hoping for fireworks. He thought he spied Chase taking bets in the corner.

"A bowl of mousse and some one to give you a lift on Friday?" She asked in puzzled disbelief.

"A, a, ahh – not someone. You." He wasn't going to let her wheedle out that easily. He had no intention of letting her wheedle out at all, but he did so enjoy reeling her in once she was on the hook - squirming.

"You can go on your own." She emphasized the you with a poke of her finger to his chest.

"Wounded," he said, putting on his best puppy dog expression and holding up his hand like an injured paw. She looked concerned but stuck to the point under discussion.

"Surely Wilson…?"

"It's his weekend for visiting family."

"Ah, yes. Then Kutner…"

"Can baby sit for you while you can drive me, then sit with me during what will be an incredibly boring event with diabolical food and watered down wine. If I have to suffer then so should you." She swallowed.

"We'd have to stay overnight. Can't you be reasonable about this?"

"What's unreasonable about the terms?"

"I don't want to be away from Rachel overnight."

"Tough choices. Torn between babies. New baby or old baby," he indicated the hospital with his hand.

"Or big baby," she said, poking his chest again.

"Ow! There you go with the violence, again." Her eyes narrowed. Now she had her analytical face on.

"This is your version of being altruistic?"

"Told you I needed thinking time. Are you going to deprive me of the benefits of altruism? Just think, if my pleasure centre gets enough stimulation I might be tempted to do it again." He put on his best sincere expression. She put on her best incredulous expression.

"If you wish to be altruistic, I have plenty of opportunities for you to exhibit that characteristic. It would be unrealistic of me to expect you to extend your altruism to not dragging me along with you?"

"It's already extended to its maximum… my altruism that is." He could tell from her face she wasn't happy but he knew she was going to cave. She didn't have a lot of choice. She was still wriggling on the hook looking for a way out but…

"When do you want the mousse…?" Yes! Reeled in and netted.

"A day to be decided. I can be flexible," he added, being provocative. He could see her biting her tongue trying not to respond.

"And you'll give the speech?" He nodded.

"No messing about? No mumbling? Something that lasts 30 minutes? Appropriate content?" There she went again, trying to pin him down, making sure he wasn't leaving himself a loophole to escape through later. The competitive part of him was surging to find one, another part was cheering that he hid himself so well she didn't know when he was being genuine. And yet another part of him was worried that he might have hidden himself so well that even he might not know the way back, let alone have Cuddy find him.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes. That's more yeses from me in one minute than you've had all year."

"Decade," she said, dryly.

"I'll give you that one. Do I hear two yeses back?"

She stared at him. He raised his eyebrows. Then, unexpectedly, she smiled. He wasn't expecting the smile, not that he didn't appreciate the way her face lit up and her eyes twinkled but smiling wasn't necessarily good when it came to Cuddy – not when negotiating.

"I'd kiss you if you weren't so butt ugly." Little minx, he thought.

"You'd kiss me if we weren't in a crowded place. That's why I picked such a public location – I didn't want any inappropriate displays of gratitude." But he was kicking himself.

She just smirked, pushed passed him and walked towards her office. The crowd started to disperse somewhat disappointed. He watched her go, admiring her rear view. He let her get half way before yelling his parting shot.

"Friday, six o'clock. Don't forget to wear the edible underwear."


	34. Labours of Hercules

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Let us be thankful for fools. But for them the rest of us could not succeed – Mark Twain

.

.*.*.*.*

.

They walked into the hotel bar – House's insistence – he claimed he needed a pre-prandial drink to steady his nerves. Cuddy had agreed with surprisingly little coercion. She'd scoffed, muttered something under her breath about nerves, dead, pickled and they couldn't get any steadier but had then smiled sweetly and agreed. House ought to have been delighted with an agreeable Cuddy – for some reason it unnerved him. They were half way through their drinks, Cuddy having just asked him a question about his past case - whether to test him surreptitiously about his speech or out of genuine interest House hadn't quite decided, when a man butted in on the conversation.

"Lisa, fancy seeing you here. What a wonderful surprise." Cuddy was momentarily taken aback, until she realized who it was. Then she put on her fake smile.

"Mr Dolus… yes, indeed an unexpected … pleasure." You wouldn't have noticed the hesitation between unexpected and pleasure unless you knew Cuddy well, thought House, as he watched them exchange pleasantries. Must be a donor. Except that Cuddy was usually more genuinely pleased to see a donor, even outside of work but she seemed to be a little cagy around this one. House was being completely ignored, which he was alright with at the moment. He'd stick his oar in if the mood took him. He practised his people watching skills while sipping his drink, and reached for another bowl of peanuts from down the bar.

House watched with interest. Guy was a typical self-made man, with a waist line to match his arrogance – both inflated. Not a donor but potential donor… and a long-term potential donor at that. Cuddy had that 'I'm humouring you' smile on, which the guy was oblivious to. Bet he'd been promising a donation for a while but never quite come to the point. Cuddy was definitely uncomfortable with the guy which was unusual. House guessed the guy had been trying to get her to go out with him, see if he could attract Cuddy into a few fringe benefits other than tax breaks for his largesse. Medically speaking that would probably happen but this guy was going for something more personal, but, despite House's ribbing of Cuddy over the donor's nephew a few years ago, Cuddy didn't do that. She was not part of the package. She socialized at organized events, attended dinner parties if they were of the large and non-intimate kind, might possibly stretch to a lunch or dinner with repeat donors she knew well, but one-on-one with a male of this… calibre, never. He's going to try and get her into a more private chat, House thought. He'd be aiming for one of the booths over by the wall. Here it comes, arm round the shoulders and…

"Lisa, perhaps we could move somewhere a little more private to discuss my donation."

Yeah, thought House, but we're not talking the monetary kind here, more a non-returnable deposit. Still Cuddy would continue to play the game, despite the fact the guy had obviously been stringing her along for a while. She could not afford to let a donation possibility pass… no matter how remote the possibility. Especially with Hacker scheming, again.

"Dr. House is an employee of PPTH, it would…" Cuddy tried.

"I'd feel much more comfortable discussing it with you in private. I have time now…" the guy dangled the carrot. Cuddy hesitated and looked at House.

"Go ahead," he said, "we've still got a few minutes before the Ugly Bug ball." He didn't really mind her wandering off with the man, it was usually quite entertaining watching Cuddy exercise her money extraction techniques on a potential donor. He smirked as he saw her being guided to a booth. She avoided being trapped in a corner – something about the dress she was wearing and shuffling down a bench seat. House took the opportunity to order another drink and charge it to Cuddy's room.

He had his back to them but he could see them reflected in the mirror behind the bar. It also made it easier to watch another couple of guys he'd noticed lurking with intent – body guards, thought House. I wonder what the guy does or doesn't do that warrants body guards. Unusually, Cuddy was leaning back in her seat cradling her glass in her hand, toying with the rim with her other hand. It kept her arms and hands out of casual reach. Normally, Cuddy would lean forward, especially when wearing a dress like that with a man on his own – nothing like distracting a man while he's writing a cheque and enticing him to add a couple of extra zeros – the subliminal effects of seeing something round in front of you. House glanced at his watch, a few more minutes and they should make a move towards the suite of rooms allocated to the dinner. There were several events on tonight. He wondered if he could walk into the wrong one 'by accident'. Cuddy had wanted him to circulate – him, with his leg. House smiled and signalled for another drink.

"You lost the girl?" asked the barman, as he poured his drink. House looked at him but decided it was just casual conversation. Wilson's voice rang in his head – 'Best behaviour. No point going to all that effort if you ruin it by making a scene.'

"It's only temporary. Whatever he thinks she won't lose track of time… worst luck. I give her another three and a half minutes and she'll be back here to hoik me off to my ordeal by inane conversation." The barman smiled sympathetically and handed him his drink.

"You in the dog house?"

"You could put it that way. How many tasks did Hercules do?" The barman looked nonplussed.

"Hercules?"

"Yeah, or Heracles, as he was Greek." House thought for a moment. "The twelve labours of Hercules, that was it. Twelve. The first being… the lion. He had to kill the Nemean lion. There's several versions of the story. There's the one where the Nemean lion takes on the form of a beautiful woman. She lures would be heroes looking to rescue a damsel in distress, by feigning injury. Hero rushes towards her and once he gets close, the woman transforms back into the lion and kills him… and probably eats him, too." The barman nodded sagely.

"You thought she was the damsel in distress but she ended up conning you."

"The Lion was supposed to be impossible to kill as its pelt was impenetrable to arrows and knives, so Heracles ended up strangling it." The barman glanced over at Cuddy.

"That'd be a waste. Couldn't you just stroke the fur? You know, calm the savage beast?"

"You haven't seen the claws when they're fully extended, but, yes, that's one of the reasons I'm here. Unfortunately, I may need the other eleven labours before I win her over." He grimaced. "Not sure I can even face another one of these evenings but tonight will tell." The barman gave him the sympathetic look, again. House wondered if he practiced that look in front of the mirror. Suddenly, House slammed his drink on the bar.

"Quick give me one of those empty bottles – a small one," House demanded of the barman.


	35. Everyone has their price

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Some cause happiness wherever they go; others, whenever they go – Oscar Wilde

.

.*.*.*.*

Cuddy was about to give up on Dolus. This wasn't the first time – he'd talked and talked and talked about giving a donation to the hospital – correction, a 'sizable' donation to the hospital but he was all talk … and touching. A touch of the hand here, a hand on her elbow there, arm around her shoulders at the slightest provocation or, more to the point, non-provocation. Now some people were just a touchy feely type of people, she didn't mind those, but this guy… he just creeped her out. He was angling for Cuddy to go to dinner with him. She was trying to talk about the various projects and departments that might appeal to him.

She didn't often socialise with donors like this. The only reason she'd agreed now was because House was within sight… and yelling distance. She smiled internally to think of House as some sort of chaperone. House's ribbing years ago about her dating the nephew of a donor still rang in her ears, but she had a very definite dividing line. She did not want to be associated with any tales that she put out for big donations. She was not prostituting herself for the hospital.

Not that she might not have been tempted to bend the rule for an intriguing specimen – what better way to meet a certain calibre of man than through functions and fund raisers. Unfortunately, not many donors were single males - well, not those who warranted the individual attention of the Dean of Medicine. Of those that were, not many were appealing. Oh, they had power and money, some were handsome, some had an intriguing amount of intelligence – most had the equivalent amount of arrogance, egotism and narcissism to balance it out. Not that the combination always ended up being negative but she hadn't got where she was today without having similar characteristics. By the laws of magnetism, animal or otherwise, likes repelled each other.

This guy though, she wasn't sure if he was taking it as a personal affront that she wouldn't go out with him or if he saw it as some sort of challenge. Whatever, she didn't think he was ever going to give a donation but as she'd had a few minutes to spare, and she was in a public place she couldn't miss the opportunity to give it another shot. Perhaps, a few drinks would loosen his cheque book. Unfortunately, as she expected, it was a complete waste of time. Then again, if she wasn't getting a compensatory gain from this bit of gay dissipation at least she and House couldn't say anything to antagonise each other. Her mind was wandering - the perils of boredom. She tuned back into what he was saying. 'Me, me, me, mine, me, me.' God, what a bore. Even talking to House was better than this… did she just think that? On balance, maybe she'd rather be thrown to the lions. God, she hoped that House was going to behave himself tonight. She didn't want a totally ruined evening.

Talking of which it was time to herd House into the function and having got him this far suitably attired - amazingly, hair brushed – that was her and much squirming he'd done to try to avoid it. It had cost her a day's clinic duty, and she was surprised he hadn't run his hand through his hair just to annoy her. Perhaps he was saving that for later – just before he spoke, naturally. She'd finished her drink and was about to make her excuses when another had appeared at her elbow. She'd been politely going to leave it when he'd tempted her back with the 'just one more drink ploy' which wouldn't have worked but reached for his cheque book which did. He started mentioning numbers for the donation that kept her in her seat for a few more minutes. He'd encouraged her to drink up. She had a sip of her drink to keep him happy. Then he'd clinked glasses with her saying here's to a lasting relationship and downed his drink. She was about to follow suit when a hand covered hers and removed the glass from her grasp. She looked up.

"House!" she exclaimed.

"You don't want to drink this, Cuddy. It's not kosher." He looked deadly serious.

"What?" For a fleeting instant she considered it was House up to his usual tricks, but no, that was his concerned look. She turned back to look at Dolus - indignant bluster – here it came.

"How dare you…?" she waded in.

"I couldn't possibly…" Dolus countered, but he looked like a trapped rat.

"What?" butted in House. "Have done anything? Let's see - accused of doctoring Cuddy's drink instead of outraged denial, we get defensive avoidance. Of course, you didn't do it yourself. You don't do anything for yourself. You got one of your minions to do it." House poured the drink into the bottle he'd got from the bar tender. "How much did you drink, Cuddy.?" He gave her a concerned look.

"Just a few sips," she responded, looking anxious.

"What was it, Dopus?" House asked.

"It's Dolus, Mr Dolus and I don't know what you're talking about." He looked over at his body guards.

"Don't signal to your guys, because my guy has instructions to phone the police if your guys move. I saw it happen." Dolus licked his lips, looked at House to gauge if he was telling the truth. House nodded in the direction of the barman who was holding a phone in his hand.

"If the cops test this, what will they find?" House shook the bottle in his face. Dolus shook his head at his body guards who remained where they were.

"Thought so," said House. He turned to Cuddy. "Do you want to press charges, Cuddy?" Dolus started to panic.

"Look, I've never done this before. I don't know what it was. The guy said it was..." Dolus blustered.

"A real panty peeler?" interrupted House.

"No. No. A… er… relaxant, just to help with the mood." Dolus looked anxiously from House to Cuddy. "Really, Lisa." He leaned towards her. "I didn't mean any harm…"

"Shut up!" said Cuddy, in a dangerously controlled voice. "It's Dr Cuddy to you. I don't believe a word your saying." Dolus sat back sharply and looked terrified.

"You should press charges, Cuddy. Another woman might not be so lucky," said House.

"Please, if we could not make a scene. I mean nothing has happened, just a misunderstanding," Dolus weaselled. Cuddy stared at him in disbelief.

"Misunderstanding…" started House, loudly, only to be drawn up short by Cuddy's hand on his arm. He looked at her surprised. Then a resigned look appeared on his face.

"I'm guessing you'd rather not have a scene either?" he said. She gave him an apologetic look. "Cuddy…"

"I know," she forestalled him. "Later." House pursed his lips together in dissent and stared at her hard. Then he sighed.

"Perhaps, a nice big fat cheque would help paper over the 'misunderstanding'?" he said to her.

"That's blackmail!" objected Dolus. House's head snapped back to stare at him. He waved the bottle in front of him again.

"And this is statutory rape, Dupus – which charge do you think might stick?" Dolus looked apprehensive.

"I… I…that's not…" he mumbled to a standstill.

"You were speaking about donations. Your cheque book's out. If you don't want a scene what could be more natural than you start writing," continued House. Dolus glanced from House to Cuddy and back. He was presented with two impregnable glares. He swallowed.

"Five thousand?" he suggested.

"That's an insult to the Dean's honour." House had no idea what Dolus was worth, but with two body guards the guy had got to be worth more than that. Fortunately, Cuddy was bound to be more clued up and she was good at negotiations.

"Cuddy, what price do you put on your virtue?"

"Five hundred thousand," she stated, baldly. House whistled.

"What?" Dolus spluttered.

"I don't hear the dulcet tones of pen on cheque book," said House.

"I can't afford…" Dolus started. He was sweating.

"It's less than ten percent of your annual disposable income," Cuddy jumped in. "And you get a tax break. You're getting off lightly."

Dolus grumpily started writing a cheque. Then he stopped again.

"How do I know you won't send it to the police anyway?"

"Well, 'I' might," said House, "but on receipt of a cheque, I will give Dr. Cuddy the bottle and she will decide what to do with it. Dr Cuddy being above reproach. Naturally, should the cheque bounce, she may well change her mind. Mind you, she's a woman - she might change her mind anyway." Dolus looked anxiously at Cuddy.

"You have my word," she said. Dolus licked his lips, fidgeted with his pen looked down, looked up again before finishing writing the cheque. He picked it up with both hands and stared at it before looking across at Cuddy again. Finally he offered it to Cuddy who whisked it out of his hand.

"Come on let's get you out of here," said House, handing her the bottle. Cuddy and House walked silently out of the bar but once in the lobby House spoke.

"Every woman has got her price. So many men, so few who can afford you," snarked House.

"Shut up," she replied, but without malice. House reached for the bottle.

"Give me that."

"I couldn't possibly," she said. House grasped the bottle and she released it without a fight.

"Brute!" she said.

"You know I'm going to test this?" House asked her. She smiled.

"I wouldn't expect anything else."

"Depending on the results I might send it to the appropriate authorities," House persisted.

"I wouldn't expect anything else," she said again.

"What?" She'd caught him off-guard. That was obviously not what he was expecting her to say. "Just wait until the cheque has cleared. And send it anonymously."

"Cuddy?" He said with a perplexed frown.

"What?" She returned, innocently.

"You gave your word."

"Yes, I gave mine. I expect you to be your usual lying, cheating, rule breaking, underhanded son of a bitch. Are you going to disappoint me?"

House stared at her for a moment, then a sly smile appeared.

"You're my kind of sly, cunning, evil administrator." House pocketed the bottle and they resumed walking through the lobby. Cuddy tried to drag House towards the function. House guided her towards the elevators.

"House, the function."

"We've no idea what this is, what effect it might have you, or when and for how long. Do you want to be sat in a function and suddenly pass out, dance on the tables, be inappropriately affectionate with your dinner partner?"

"It was only a few sips. I'm feeling fine," insisted Cuddy.

"If anything untoward happens I won't be able to cover for you. There'll be a scene, something you've just prostituted yourself to avoid." Cuddy swallowed. Twice – once for the inconvenient truth and once for the other unpalatable truth.

"Good point. But you can go." He shook his head.

"Not leaving you on your own." Cuddy started getting worried he was going to wriggle out of the function.

"I'm fine." She tried to reassure him.

"I repeat what effect and when?"

"I'll go to my room," she bargained.

"No. I repeat what and when? And what if he tries to follow you? We'll go to mine."

"House, please."

"I'm not going to that function until I've seen you safely in my room. Do you want to keep arguing that point here or shall we argue on the way there?" She folded as far as getting in the elevator.

"I'm fine," she tried again.

"Let's keep you that way." House was unmoved.

"House, you need to do the speech."

"So you keep saying. The quicker you accede to my requests, the quicker I get back down stairs." They exited the elevator.

"If I go to your room, you'll go to the function on your own, play nice with the boring people, no mocking, no sarcasm, and you'll do a real speech?" He screwed his face up.

"Tricky about the sarcasm."

"Minimum sarcasm."

"And the mocking," he added.

"House!"

"Okay, okay. I'll do my best." He led the way into his room. "Now get on the bed."

"What?" Surely he wasn't going to pull a stunt now.

"And I need your hose," added House, his face immobile.

"Did you drink the contents of that bottle?"

"It's either that or my tie." He reached for the knot. She batted his hand away. "Cuddy, I can't just leave you. You could end up walking out of here, leaping from the roof, jumping the first man you see, and having no memory of it tomorrow. I'm not going until you're secure. So quicker you're on the bed…"

"House, don't you think you're over reacting?" He shook his head.

"Not going."

"What if I'm sick?" She changed tack.

"I'll tie you so you won't suffocate on your own vomit."

"How reassuring." She paused. He was not going to budge. "You'll do the speech? No pranks or skiving."

"Yes! Now assume the position."

"If there's even a rumour of this getting out you'll change religion - with no anaesthetic," she grumbled.

"Time's awasting, Cuddy." She continued to look undecided. House sighed.

"I'll set the laptop up so I can keep an eye on you through my mobile. If it looks like you're in distress I'll be right up."

"I don't want you leaving the function! You're just looking for an excuse to take pictures. You're trying to get back at me for the Photoshop thing." House sighed.

"Cuddy! You're going to have to trust me on this or I don't go."

"If you don't go…"

"Yes, yes, yes. We'll both be out of a job. I'm not the one holding up the proceedings here. But at least you'll still be alive to look after Rachel." Cuddy scowled.

"Do you have to be so dramatic! Turn round."

"What?"

"You're not watching me take off my hose."

"You're missing your chance to have your wicked way with me." But he turned round, took the plastic bottle out of his pocket and walked towards the mini bar. Having finished with that he booted up his laptop.

"You indecent yet?" he asked.

"Yes, get on with it." Came the grumpy response. House set up the laptop next to the bed, got her positioned on her side and tied her up. As he moved back he let his hands linger just over her breasts.

"House!" Cuddy glared. He laughed, moved his hands away and got up.

"I'm going, Gorgon. Keep you panties on. You have got panties on haven't you? Or a thong?" he looked curiously at her hips.

"House."

"Going. I'll steal you some food." He walked towards the door. "I'll switch the TV on for you," he said, as he passed the remote control. "Oh, look monster trucks…." He hastened out of the door, to the sounds of her 'Noooooooooooooooo'.


	36. Obsessive, much?

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Give a man a free hand and he'll run it all over you - Mae West

.

.*.*.*.

.

Three hours later he was back. He didn't want to reveal how relieved he was when he got back to the room and she was okay. He'd been monitoring her on his mobile but there was no substitute for seeing her in the flesh… so to speak. She was dozing. Well, she had nothing else to do. It was passed her bedtime, it had been a long, long day, and she'd have been bored – once she stopped inventing new names to call him. He took a moment to check her over – even breathing, no sweating, she almost looked relaxed. He didn't often see her like that. He allowed the plate of food to clatter onto the nightstand startling her awake.

"House? What time is it?

"Elevenish."

"Is the dinner over?" She hoped the time he'd been gone indicated that he'd done as he'd said and gritted out the dinner. Unfortunately it was just as likely that he'd been in the bar having been chucked out of the meal after half an hour.

"It is for me."

"House, what did you do?"

"Nothing. I was a good boy, Mommy. I just made good my escape while everyone thought that was still the case. Made my boss the excuse. Do I get my reward now?"

"How did it go?"

"Fine," responded House. He looked her up and down. "You've been trying to escape, you've made your wrists red." She rolled her eyes.

"Naturally, I tried to get free. You left me with monster trucks."

"And your skirt's ridden up." He moved his hand in the direction of her leg of which a significant amount of thigh was exposed. She'd hoped that with her flexibility she'd be able to escape her bonds when House left. Unfortunately for her, either House was lucky or he knew how to tie her wrists so she couldn't wriggle out of them. As House didn't believe in luck she could only assume he knew all about tying bonds and she really didn't want to think about that too closely. Also, unluckily for her, her skirt had ridden up while she'd been wriggling about. She'd then made it even worse by wriggling to try to get it down again.

He sat down next to her on the bed, then slowly and inexorably moved his hand towards her thigh.

"House!" She'd kick him if he touched her. There was a gossamer touch to her skin as House picked up the hem of her skirt and pulled it back down. He put his fingers on her neck to take her pulse.

"A little elevated," he said. She glared at him. Her heart had been going twenty to the dozen at the thought he was going to touch her. He smiled then limped tiredly across the room.

"Hey, untie me."

"In a minute." A nature program was just starting on the television. He ignored it until he heard the word tigers. He glanced up then grabbed the remote to switch it off. The last thing he needed was to watch the mating habits of tigers when he had a captive one of his own of which he couldn't take advantage.

"Is this some sort of cruel and unusual punishment - you put food in front of me but don't let me get at it?" She asked. He picked up her purse and rummaged in it.

"Are you sure you know what's on that plate – I might be about to force feed you steak tartare?"

"What are you doing in my purse?" She asked with a puzzled frown.

"Looking for something." She rolled her eyes.

"What?"

"This," he said pulling out her pen light. "I knew you'd be anal enough to never go anywhere without one. I'm surprised you haven't got one strapped to your thigh with a mobile phone strapped to the other thigh." He contemplated that for a moment. "Do you?"

"I think you just got sufficient view to see that I don't."

"Mobile phone could be on the other thigh?"

"No. Will you untie me!"

"What's the matter? Not into a little role playing?" he limped back to the bed and sat down next to her. "Let's play doctors and patients. You're the patient. That means… I'm the doctor," he said with a certain amount of glee and a gleam in his eye. Cuddy huffed.

"I'm fine. Just bored and a few of my brain cells died trying not to listen to the monster trucks but other than that I'm fine. Just untie me."

"Unluckily for you, you don't get a choice." He took her chin is his hand and waved the penlight in her eyes. She tried to shake her head free.

"House!"

"Hmm, dilation and response fine. Shame I can't take your blood pressure."

"It would be becoming more elevated by the minute," she snapped.

"Really. Bondage turns you on." She glared at him.

"Untie me," she insisted.

"No. Got you where I want you. I can give you the full examination …the professional one while you can only whinge and bleat but not move."

"House, I'm fine. There's no need to do this." House continued to ignore her.

"Hmmm, should have got you to take off all you clothes before you lied down. I'll just have to help you off with them now." He moved his hands threateningly.

"House!" she said, with an evil glare.

"Did you wear the edible underwear?"

"No. Talking of which I'm hungry untie me - please." He picked up a grape and moved it above her lips.

"House, stop it."

"I thought you were hungry? Do I need to peel the grape?" He asked her, innocently.

"No, just untie me and I can eat it myself."

"I'm just trying to be helpful here. Not untying you until I have completed my examination. Come on, Cuddy, just a little grape for the nice doctor." He rubbed the grape over her lips. "Open wide." She was caught. She couldn't say anything because House would push the grape into her mouth when she opened it but she didn't want to meekly take the grape from him. She opted for snapping at the grape and nearly biting his finger.

"You're such a child! Now untie me," she tried again.

"You going to make it worth my while?"

"How about I make your life hell if you don't?"

"Tricky if I don't. Any nausea, light headiness?"

"No."

"Are you sure your okay, Cuddy, only your respiration rate seems to be increasing?"

"I. Am. Fine." She said, slowly and deliberately.

"You're slightly flushed." He put the back of his hand to her forehead. She gave him a narrow eyed evil glare. "As your doctor I'm not prepared to sign your release papers without a thorough examination. Your off your food, flushed, heavy breathing – not looking good, Cuddy. Not looking good at all. I better check you lymph glands."

"House!" He grinned.

"You flat on your back, on the bed, yelling my name… it's such a turn on."

"Sign me off AMA."

"No! I need to listen to your heart. You carry a stethoscope about with you, too?"

"No," she said, with barely concealed frustration.

"Oh. I'll just have to improvise." He turned his head to move his ear down to her chest.

"House! Stop this. I'm fine. You said to trust you."

"Ouch! Spoilsport."

"Untie me."

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"You need to be under observation for at least another hour. If I untie you, you'll insist on going back to your room which would be unwise for a least a couple of reasons. As you pointed out before you can out run me even in heels, so, rather than let you go, I'll just leave you restrained. Now, more food?"

"Don't you dare."

"You daring me?" His eyes twinkled dangerously, but then he seemed to think better of it. "I know you're pissed at me – you often are. Fortunately, it's a good look for you. But at least you're a safe pissed."

"Don't you think you're being over cautious?"

"I think you must be confusing me with you. The speech went well by the way - much fawning and nothing words after, especially from the host's wife – trophy wife that is – blond and buxom. Slit in her dress from here to here and here to here." He demonstrated on her without touching.

"Don't change the subject. Untie me."

"Not listening. Cheesy twist? We don't want you doing anything stupid." She kicked out at him. He caught her foot easily, had obviously been expecting it. He moved a finger close to her sole threatening to tickle.

"Nooooo!" she tried to yank her foot back, it was only successful in letting the skirt slip back over her thighs. She looked aghast at the large area of flesh displayed, even more than before. He looked mesmerised by the large area of flesh displayed.

"House!" He snapped out of his trance.

"Now was that a reflex kicking response Cuddy, or did you do that deliberately? Need to know in case this is a new symptom."

"There aren't any symptoms, let alone new ones," she snapped. He just continued to look at her enquiringly. She sighed. "It was deliberate."

"Are you just telling me that so I'll let you go? Then again, can I trust your responses… such a dilemma…" He put her foot down on the bed. Then let his fingers skim up her calf to her knee… and beyond.

"House, my wrists hurt, my shoulders ache..." Recite the muscle groups, he said to himself. Keep control. Soleus, tibialis anterior, gastrocnemius, vastus medialis, vastus lateralis. He reached the hem of her dress, she froze. He gave a sad sigh and pulled the dress back down over her legs. Making her more decent but not necessarily more presentable, to his eyes anyway. She swallowed and her eyes closed briefly.

"Please, untie me, House," she asked, softly.

"You going to promise not to make any escape attempts?"

"You're being…" she tried.

"That'll be a no then?" he cut her off.

"I won't make an escape attempt," she said, quickly, not wanting him to back off.

"You won't leave this room until I say you're okay to go?" he asked, seriously.

"Okay. Okay," she agreed. "But I think you're being obsessive." He gave a wry half smile. Then reached up to undo the knots. She sighed with relief and groaned as the blood started flowing into cramped muscles. House rubbed her shoulders for her. That and the "Better to be safe than sorry," was the only apology she was going to get, but it was better than nothing, and she supposed he was right.

"You really attended the function?" She reached for the plate of food.

"Oh ye of little faith! I went down to the function, made your apologies, said you were ovulating and had jumped some guy in the bar... okay, I said you'd been taken ill and I was monitoring you on my mobile because I was concerned. It seemed to go down well with the hostess. She thought I was amazingly dedicated. There I was monitoring you even while I was out enjoying myself – obviously some definition of enjoying myself I haven't heard before but she seemed happy so, I sat back and thought of… the hospital. Such a caring and concerned doctor not switching off my phone even during the meal - the food was as bad as expected by the way – not much for vegetarians either, some very well done cheese and onion flan thing you did well to miss out on."

"Where did you get this food then?"

"I slipped into another function. They had a really good buffet in there. I spent half an hour grazing before they sussed me."

"You did do your speech?"

"Did you know that dolus in Latin means fraud, deceit, treachery or a trap?"

"House?" She looked concerned.

"Yes, Mom, I did my speech, 29 minutes and 45 seconds. Are you going to tell me off for the extra 15 seconds? Everyone said they were very pleased. It took me 20 minutes to escape and I only managed that by saying you were looking green or did I say blue. I said you'd changed colour anyway although over the mobile it looked like you were red bordering on purple. I'm glad I turned the sound down it looked like you were ranting. For a moment, I thought you were exhibiting some symptoms, then I realized it was your usual harpy demeanour. The speeches were extremely boring, except mine of course – I livened it up with a few embarrassing patient moments."

"Please tell me you didn't mock?" He took a deep breath. She got ready to cringe.

"I didn't mock. Do you believe me?" She looked noncommittal. "I was too busy watching you writhing about on the bed to pay much attention to anybody else. Good ploy, Cuddy." It had been fascinating watching the glacial upward progress of the hem of her dress up her leg to her knee, above the knee, the start of her thigh…

"I got an itch!" She gave as a mitigating circumstance.

"Doesn't that always happen when your hands are occupied? You mean you weren't deliberately trying to distract me?"

"As if I knew the schedule so I could distract you at just the right moment!"

"So, I did everything you wanted. What's my reward?"

"Have a grape." She popped one into his mouth as he opened it to protest. He pretended he was going to spit back at her but then sucked it back into his mouth and ate it.

"That's really motivational. You could have at least made it a cherry!" He got up and moved towards the bathroom. He left the door open, so he heard her as she got up.

"No, trying to sneak out while my back's turned," he yelled.

"I'm just getting a bottle of water."

"Don't …." She didn't hear the rest of the sentence over the flushing of the toilet. She noticed the bottle House had filled in the bar earlier and ignored that and reached for the half full bottle of water.

"I didn't hear that. What did you say, House?" She took a big glug from the bottle, then nearly choked. It wasn't water.

"I said I switched bottles so don't drink…" He stuck his head round the bathroom door and saw her shocked face. He looked at the bottle in her hand. "Shit! Please tell me you didn't drink that?"

"Please tell me this is not what I think it is?" she returned.

"I was being paranoid. Just in case they tried to mug us for it later. How much did you drink? More than a sip?" She nodded her head, looking horror-struck. "Shit! This is going to be a long night."


	37. Fair Play

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_Hi All, Sorry for the hiatus - Just back from holiday in sunny France. Thank you to all those who have sent reviews, I really do appreciate it, and I will get around to replying soon! Meanwhile, on with the story _

_._

Do you really think it is weakness that yields to temptation? I tell you that there are terrible temptations which it requires strength, strength and courage to yield to. - Oscar Wilde

.*.*.*.*.

.

"Cuddy." She heard in a muffled, far-off voice that was not going to rouse her from her semi comatose state.

"Cuddy," said louder and accompanied by a shake to her shoulder. Had she known that one part of her brain was screaming at her that that voice was usually associated with trouble she might have responded more quickly. Had she known that another part of her brain was screaming at her that her current situation coupled with that voice was not one she should be comfortable with she might have responded more intelligently. As it was, neither of those parts of the brain could penetrate the fog that was separating her hind brain from her forebrain. The only imperative was sleep, so she tried to bury herself deeper into the covers. Unfortunately, the voice and hand were becoming more insistent. Consciousness slowly returned and with it - pain.

"Oh, God," she groaned. There was a deep chuckle from behind her. A deep, male chuckle. A deep, male chuckle who sounded suspiciously like… Her eyes snapped open, and she jerked upright. Big mistake. The world swam in front of her eyes. She groaned again. The chuckle sounded again. It was to her right. She slowly turned her head in that direction.

The well-known features consisting of scruffy beard, sparkling blue eyes and a decidedly smirking countenance confirmed her worst fears…

"Oh, God!" It was House… and he was ogling her. She made a grab for the covers, then looked down.

"Oh, God!" She repeated and House practically broke into a laugh. It wasn't what she was revealing it was what she was wearing - his shirt… she did a quick check… and nothing else. Her head throbbed.

"I know I'm good, Cuddy, but referring to me as God three times in under a minute…?"

House blurred around the edges. She swallowed and swayed. Fuzzy House obviously detected the problem because he had her up, on her feet (in a manner of speaking) and bundled into the bathroom just in time for her to throw up. House watched her to make sure she didn't knock herself out, handed her a glass of water when it looked like she'd finished heaving, and switched on the shower before departing saying.

"It's just after ten, Cuddy. Need to get that double beach ball of an ass of yours in gear or you'll run out of baby sitter." Cuddy blinked vaguely but she registered the shower and managed to drag herself into it. She stood under the hot water, still feeling nebulous round the edges when she heard House's dulcet tones speaking loud enough to be heard over the spray.

"Do you want me to give you some of your clothes or are you going to wander round the hotel room in a towel? Personally, either works for me. In one scenario I get my hands on your underclothes and in the other I get my eyes on you under clothed." And the world snapped back into position. She was relieved to see that the shower cubicle was steamed up so her modesty was intact - relatively.

"I don't suppose there's any chance of you doing the decent thing and leaving the room?"

"After what we shared last night? I'm hurt. Anyway, I'm expecting room service with breakfast any minute, so make a decision quickly, Cuddy or I might be too preoccupied with eating to do anything else." She sighed.

"Just bring my overnight bag in here." It was the lesser of the three evils, although he'd probably already had his hands in her over night bag.

"Party pooper," he said, but she heard him dump the bag on the floor, of course he'd known what her answer would be, he'd just been baiting her. He shuffled out of the room… leaving the door ajar. The generously minded might think he'd done that so he could hear her if she passed out or fell over, the less generously minded might think he was after a glimpse of naked flesh.

She stretched under the hot water. God, she ached. Her head ached. Her neck, shoulders, arms and wrists ached no doubt from being tied up. Her stomach ached. Well, she had been sick and she vaguely remembered House encouraging her to be sick last night to try to get the drugs out of her system before they took effect. Unfortunately, that was one of the last things she remembered. Her thighs ached… her knees ached… lets face it everything ached. Presumably the side effects of the unknown drugs. She started washing her legs and felt a tender bit. She looked down. There was a bruise… more than one bruise. She started taking an inventory.

By the time she was dressed and walked into the bedroom to find House sitting on the bed eating pancakes while channel surfing she was in a very uncertain frame of mind.

"You still look rough." Was House's encouraging greeting. "Coffee's over there if you want it, although, I'd recommend the juice rather than hitting your system with another stimulant."

"I don't have time for breakfast. Why didn't you wake me earlier?"

"I did." She opened her mouth to speak. "Calm down, its only quarter past eight."

"I thought you said it was after ten?" she accused.

"Yes… as in ten to eight." She eyed him suspiciously and looked around for her watch. House smirked at her. "Your watch is over on the table", he nodded his head in its direction, too busy pouring maple syrup over his pancakes to use his hands for anything else. "But, do you trust me not to have altered it for my own nefarious purposes?" She gave him a filthy look. "Check out the TV." She glanced over, to see he'd stopped on a news channel display the time and date.

"So, I was rudely awakened because..?" He sighed, dramatically.

"First you accuse me of not waking you early enough, now you're accusing me of doing it too early! I was hungry. I'd ordered room service and, cute though you are when drooling, I didn't think you'd like the bellboy to see you in flagrante delicto – the literal translation rather than its connotation."

She wandered over to the breakfast tray. Coffee was tempting, she really felt the need for a caffeine boost but House was probably right so she went for the orange juice.

"You should have something to eat, too. Help soak up some of that alcohol," he added, helpfully.

"What alcohol?"

"You drank the mini bar dry, Cuddy, then ordered a bottle of tequila from room service."

"Me?" She asked, scandalized.

"There another Cuddy in this room? You seeing double?"

"I know I'm going to regret this but, why was I drinking?"

"Oh, let me think… to have a good time. I drove you to it. Party pants was in the room. None of my business. To try to make you sick. To try to get you to pass out. How many reasons do you want?"

"Any chance of getting a straight answer as to why I'm covered in bruises?"

"You fell off the table," he pointed at her thigh. "You tripped over your shoes," he pointed at her shin. "Need me to check them out?"

"No!"

"Last night you wanted me to kiss them better," he added, slyly. She ignored him.

"And the ones that look like fingerprints on my arms and hips?"

"What can I say? You like it rough. Wanna see the scratch marks you left on my back?"

"What? No! I didn't…" She looked horrified and… lost. He turned serious.

"You don't remember anything?" he asked. She shook her head. He looked sadly relieved.

"Are you sure you want me to tell you what happened? At the moment you only think it might have been embarrassing. You really want me to confirm it? Would you believe me if I told you? Or have you already decided the worst case scenario, seeing as it's me?"

"I don't want to know but, as it's you, I need to work on damage control so, unfortunately, I need to know. Then again, you could make it all up," she conceded. "You will probably drop 'hints' at the most inappropriate times. You might try to blackmail me into never giving you clinic duty again. You might save some for when you want consent for an inappropriate procedure. You're going to have a whole load of fun at my expense." He looked hurt but unsurprised.

"I'm glad you think so highly of me. Let's see... fun at your expense. Well, there was the dancing on the table and you falling on your ass. That was funny. Wait till I tell Wilson about that. There was you trying to sing… that was not funny. I hope you never try to sing the toothless wonder to sleep you'll give her nightmares. I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy." He shuddered dramatically. "You rambled on about being a mother and how wonderful Rachel was, what a pain your sister is – boring, nothing funny or blackmailable there. You told me all your latest passwords, what your favourite colour was, as if I didn't know, asked me… no demanded my favourite colour, song, movie, book, sexual position. There were those things that you said about various members of the board – they might come in useful later. You nagged me about clinic duty, eating properly, taking exercise. I suggested sex, that well known cardiac health regime. You said physician heal thyself – something along those lines anyway. Hmmm, you did throw yourself at me… literally, when you tripped over your shoes. I broke your fall. We ended up on the floor - want to compare bruises." He reached for his belt.

"No! I'll take your word for it."

"Really? Even if you didn't want to offer sympathy for the wounds I received at your hands, I'd have thought you'd have wanted evidence of my claims – but you're going to take my word for it… interesting. Where were we? Oh yes – I take it you want me to go on?" There was more? Oh God! She nodded.

"You think I'm going to give up all your secrets? Okay, moving on to things I might blackmail you with. There was you taking your clothes off. Wilson will enjoy that – not that it was funny but he'll get a vicarious pleasure from it. You told me all about the last time you had sex. Oh yeah, le pièce de résistance, we caught a bit of When Harry met Sally on the TV and you demonstrated the fake orgasm for me. That was… that was… hard on a mere male, I'll have you know.

"I'm beginning to be sorry that you 'rescued' me from Dolus!"

"His loss my gain."

"How long was I rambling?"

"Two hours – you were the energizer bunny on speed… orally…" he trailed off, lost in a reverie. "You want to negotiate for my silence?"

"The offer to help you become Jewish still stands."

"Ouch, there you go with the violence again." He unconsciously crossed his legs as he replied.

"There another way I can guarantee your co-operation?" she asked, giving him the 'go on, surprise me' look.

"Make a deal?" he said. He made the 'well, duh' face.

"Right, one that you'd renege on when the occasion suited you and you'd brush it off with 'everybody lies'."

"I'll throw in 'stop making up rumours about you'. Fact is so much better than fiction, except that sometimes fact is stranger than fiction and people just don't believe it."

"Have you got any evidence for these embarrassing moments?" She sipped her juice trying to appear nonchalant.

"You weren't embarrassed at the time. You were having fun." He waggled his eyebrows at her, a small, mischievous smile on his lips.

"And now you're having fun. Did you take photographs?"

"No." She gave him a disbelieving look. "What – you want to check my mobile?" He drew it out of his pocket and threw it to her. "Look Cuddy – no photos." She checked. House could be pulling a double bluff.

"You emailed them, then deleted them," she said, when she couldn't find anything.

"No." He didn't look like he was lying but he could be answering literally. The possibility that he had not taken pictures seemed remote. House passing up an opportunity to blackmail her – that was laughable. She searched for his loophole.

"Saved them on your laptop?"

"No – I didn't have the foresight to bring the cable thingy with me. If only I'd known. I'd have had blackmail material for years… decades… As it is, maybe…"

"Say anything and your life won't be worth living."

"You think you can make me more miserable than I am now? I might enjoy all the attention and energy you'd expended in my direction – being looked over is better than being overlooked, right?"

"House!"

"Cuddy!" He watched the internal debate going on in her head.

"Cuddy, just let it go. You're in no state to banter with me and certainly in no state to win an argument. Except by brute force – and then you'd have to live with the consequences. Just eat some breakfast, drink your juice, do your yoga exercises whatever it is you need to set yourself up for the day and let's get on the road."

She wanted to, she really did. If she sat still and moved slowly things were just about bearable. She felt… delicate, the sort of feeling that came when your brain seemed to be rattling about in your skull – a sudden movement and the soft tissue hit the hard bone and the throbbing started all over again. Dehydration and pickled brain cells, lovely. She sipped some more of her juice. Unfortunately, this was House – she couldn't just let it go.

"How much of what you've said is true?" she asked. He sighed.

"How much do you think might be true?"

"With you it could be all, none or something in between."

"License my roving hands, and let them go,

Before, behind, between, above, below." His hands mimed his words. His voice was… was… gentle.

She was momentarily speechless, not least of which because all sorts of body parts had… twitched in response to his words and movement. That had to be the residual effects of the drugs or the alcohol. There was no way her body had just betrayed her like that. No way. The delay in her response was becoming noticeable.

"You're an ass." She went for the tried, tested and irrefutable.

"What after you declared your love for me last night?" Now she knew he was just winding her up, he had to be. No way - drugged, drunk or stoned would she admit something like that. It just wasn't true… ahh, but she was taking him literally – mustn't forget that House was sneaky. She could have said 'I'd love you if you fell on your ass' as a response to him laughing at her for falling on hers and House could quite truthfully get away with such a statement.

"Last night I was drug addled, so I'll believe that when I hear it. You got a recording?" There was a moment's hesitation before House answered.

"No." He paused. "So, you think you said things that weren't true?" His head cocked slightly to the side as he asked her, his eyes glued to her face. She hesitated. "Or, given that you were completely uncensored, you just wished they weren't true?

"Anything I said last night must be suspect," she negated.

"Why do you think you would lie just because you were uninhibited?" She hesitated again.

"You keep asking for evidence Cuddy, but I got it right here on my body, yet you don't want to see the bruises or the scratches – that would make it too real. Much better to pretend that I'm making it up. I understand. How about the bites, I could show you those?" Her stomach dropped and she felt distinctly queasy.

"Bites?"

"The animal in you can't resist my hotness, like a tigress on heat – roaring at the moon, growling for my touch, ripped my shirt off, clawed my pants off – you broke a nail doing it." It was a reflex action for Cuddy to glance at her nails – sure enough a broken nail. "I was fighting you off all night. You're a real tigress. Even had to hold you at bay with a chair for a while." She scoffed, although worried on the inside. At the animal attraction level they had it in spades. If she really had been that uninhibited she might… she just might have... it was possible… Oh God!

"You took advantage!" she accused. House looked hurt.

"That's me, low down scum. Opportunistic dog, skulking on the periphery just waiting for your guard to be down so I can get my rocks off. I knew you wouldn't believe me. In this instance, I hate being right."

"What?"

"I got a get out of jail free card, Cuddy. You wrote it all down in your organizer - especially the bits where 'whatever happened it wasn't my fault and you wouldn't hate me'." She brightened then suddenly looked concerned.

"I haven't checked my mail this morning." Energised she looked round for it, albeit not with her usual vigour. "Where is it?"

"Somewhere around. I turned it off. The constant ringing was keeping me awake." House waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the other side of the room, then gave his attention to the TV.

"You did what?" She spun round, groaned at the rash action and moving a little more sedately searched about the room.

"Actually, I think it ran out of battery. It's going to be your worst nightmare – 1001 unanswered voicemails."

"House!"

"Try under the pillow." She scrabbled for it, relieved when she found it. She tried switching it on but it was dead. She pulled a spare battery out of her overnight bag and fitted it, unaware she was smiling as the screen lit up.

"I think you're addicted to that thing," House said, giving a lie to the fact he was pretending not to be watching what she was doing. She ignored him and clicked through her menus until she found something she didn't recognise. She started reading. House went to get some more to eat.

23:30 Don't think I don't know that you're getting me to do this as a time wasting exercise in the hope that I'll fall asleep - I'm being unrestrained not stupid. However, it is a good idea. If I was dependent on you telling me what went on you'd have way too much fun. I'm to make a note that you tried your best to shut me up. You introduced several topics to try to distract me so, it's your own fault if I 'did' nag you about clinic duty, eating properly and taking exercise. You offered sex, what a surprise, then regretted it when I said okay. Your face – what a picture!

23:45 Apparently, I'm being my usual obsessive self by going back to the topic I want to discuss despite House's best efforts to distract me. He's regretting it now – that fake orgasm really got to him – he can't shake that mental picture from his mind. That'll teach him.

00:00 Yeah, I ordered tequila, even though I know it makes me horny… hornier, even though I'm trapped in a hotel room with House, or perhaps because I'm trapped in a hotel room with House, and I don't need tequila to feel horny around House. House is encouraging me – he thinks I'll pass out. He isn't going to be that lucky. However, if he stopped trying to dodge me we'd both get lucky.

00:15. House says I won't believe him about the bruises, so I'm putting it in writing. He tried to stop me getting on the table but I can out run him. Sir Galahad even tried to catch me when I fell – who knew? I'd have half expected him to dodge out of the way, maybe pick up the pieces afterwards but actually get in the way? He won't let me check his leg even though he knocked it on the chair as he broke my fall. I promise not to hate you, House. This is not your fault – for once… even if you did force me to be here… but then you were forced to be here so I'm being reasonable about that. I wont impose extra clinic duty on you but that's because you've promised not to tell, except something to keep Wilson happy because he can tell when you are lying, but you reserve the right to bring this up in private (double underlined) when you think I'm being a mean, pig-headed Gorgon administrator – Gorgon means (edited by GH – ah, ah ahh, that's cheating and no, I wont be explaining Gorgon again until you're next in a compromising position… with your legs akimbo – and the same goes for my favourite colour, movie, book, food, song, sexual position – I'd rather you were fully conscious when you find that one out). You'll note I said 'extra' clinic duty – you don't get a free pass from your contractual obligations… or the hours you still owe me from previous years.

00:30 I know you are consumed with curiosity as to what I'm writing so I'm going to let you read it over my shoulder rather than have you steal it later. House is trying not to take advantage. Whatever happens, I acknowledge that you've tried to be… I'd like to say a gentleman but that would be taking it too far, anyway, if you don't give me what I want I'll go down to the bar and find somebody who will. If you want to change your mind - I won't think the worst of you and if you give me 5 orgasms in half an hour I'll double your salary.

Signed Lisa Cuddy.

00:40 – Yes.

00:45 – YES!

00:50 – YES!.

01:05 – Yyyyeeeessssss!

01:15 – I feel cheated. You passed out after the fourth orgasm, Cuddy. I claim victory by default – GH.

Cuddy didn't know what to think. She went from disbelief, to embarrassment, to its preposterous, impossible. House must have written it but why admit he'd edited bits. Was it a double bluff? How could she believe this any more than she could believe House?

"House, is this any truer than what you've already told me?"

"Okay, okay, I'll come clean. I removed a few references that you'd written on what I said and I added the last four entries." He looked perfectly genuine.

She needed a lie detector, torture, morphine, anything… actually… thinking about it… She swayed a little on her feet.

"Cuddy? Cuddy? Are you all right?" Hmmm, almost immediate so he was paying attention even though he seemed to be dividing his attention between breakfast and the TV, and that was definitely an edge of concern in his voice.

"House, I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for, Cuddy. It was not your fault." He looked puzzled and cagey.

"No, for not realising how self sacrificing you were." She kept her voice sincere. She should feel guilty about this but… House was fair game.

"What? Whoa, let's not get carried away here." She turned to face him. House froze pancake half way to his mouth. He was assessing her, spotting her apparent switch in demeanour. She sashayed to the bed and knelt on the end. Slowly, slinkily and sultrily she crawled towards him with a predatory, hungry look in her eyes.

"You resisted me last night but there's no reason to this morning," she purred.

"Cuddy?" House looked wary, and licked his lips, the pancake still stalled half way from plate to mouth. She continued to crawl towards him. Her hand reached out for his socked foot, stroking over the toes. He jumped. She started to trail her finger up his instep to his ankle.

"Cuddy?" he said, more urgently.

"You should be rewarded for your restraint. How could I have thought that you wouldn't have my best interests at heart?" Her finger reached his knee. House watched her hand seemingly mesmerised.

"Cuddy, are you feeling alright?" Her finger swirled patterns up his thigh from outside to inside. He swallowed.

"I'm feeling very well, thank you. And you?" The hand reached his hip and lingered. She was staring… longingly at just to the right of her hand. He swallowed again, his eyes like a deer in headlights. She twitched her hand.

"Cuddy!" he squeaked. Her hand continued upwards, she spread her fingers over his stomach. House started to react. He put his plate with his half eaten pancake on the bedside table.

"Cuddy, snap out of it."

"What – out of my bra? Okay." She smiled and reached behind her.

"No." House made a grab for her hands. "Oh God! Not again. That stuff's got to be out of your system by now." She smiled and leaned towards him her lips aiming for his.

"Cuddy," he whispered, drawing back slightly, bringing her hands to the front and using them to keep the two of them apart. "You're not in your right mind."

"I'm left handed, I'm always in my right mind." She tried to move her hands to his face. "Come on, you know you want to," she drawled. He closed his eyes and let his head drop back and groaned.

"Why can't you jump me when you're in full control of your faculties?"

"That's not possible. I'd only jump you when my hormones were running rampant."

"Okay. When it's not drug or alcohol induced."

"Or maybe when I'm not putting something to the test."

"What?" He was almost cute when he was wrong footed. She withdrew her hands and crisply moved off the bed towards the breakfast trolley.

"I'm hungry now. Those pancakes do look good." House stared at her in bewilderment for a few seconds before finally joining the dots together.

"You… you… you devious, sly, cunning Gorgon minx. Are you going to leave me like this?" he pointed to his groin.

"Nothing to do with me."

"It's everything to do with you. You think I'd…" and he stopped realising he been caught in an admission of sorts. She laughed. His face registered annoyance, appreciation, tenderness then sadness.

"Gorgon minx," he said, finally. He got off the bed and limped towards the bathroom. She looked at him enquiringly.

"What? You want me to fix 'my' problem in here?"

Her mind stuttered – of course she didn't. She didn't want him fixing his problem at all while she was in the vicinity. Actually, that wasn't quite true - she did, if he could fix hers while he was at it but that would just make everything even more complicated than it was. Crap, why did he have to do something right just when she was feeling horny. She could feel the tingling, the aching in parts south, the juices starting to flow. It was worse around him than normal. Why, oh why had she drunk tequila last night? She put her administrator mask back on and shook her head and started nibbling a pancake as if she hadn't a care in the world.

She still didn't know what to believe. House had probably done the decent thing where he had to, but he'd probably also done the indecent thing. Like saying 'No, Cuddy, don't take off your clothes', then standing back to enjoy the show while she did it, probably while pretending to hide his eyes behind his hand. And what about the bit where she threatened to go down to the bar? He wouldn't have let her if he could help it, she was fairly sure, but could he have stopped her? She'd written that she'd managed to out run him to get on the table, so what chance did he have of stopping her going downstairs – unless he gave her what she wanted? She was in no doubt as to what she would have wanted. Could she see House turning her down? Free sex, no memories, no inhibitions – that was a tough combination to resist. That and she would have been… persistent. She'd have been as horny as hell and more mobile than him… unless he'd tied her up again… Unfortunately, it was unlikely he would have caught her with that trick twice. The bruises were consistent with him trying to break her fall and holding her at bay if she'd been… She stopped herself. There was no 'if', she'd… jumped him, just accept the fact, and she'd have kept trying to jump him. She almost felt sorry for him – almost. The question was 'What did House do?'. He was deflecting from something. By sheer size and reach he could probably keep her pinned if he got her in the right position… and there was another if!

To distract herself while he was in the bathroom she phoned her babysitter and then started going through her emails only to find that several of the urgent hospital ones had been answered. She checked her sent mail to read her responses. She'd apparently authorised several procedures, had responded a little brusquely to one from Hacker but, it was an inane request. She wouldn't be surprised if he was checking up on her. Then she checked the time. It was after she'd supposedly passed out. House must have answered this. With some trepidation she double checked her responses – all sent while she was asleep, all the urgent pages had been answered and some of the others… all with appropriate answers. One where there had been a dialogue while House got the facts before refusing the procedure requested but suggesting an alternative treatment… without once mentioning the word idiot.

House emerged from the bathroom. She looked at him speculatively. For whatever reason she wasn't going to get the full story but he would probably give her answers to the more pressing things she needed to know. Did she want him to know that she needed to know? Well, as she seemed to have revealed so many things already what was another one?

"House?"

"What?" he said, grumpily.

"Did you… Did I go down to the bar?" He sighed and rolled his eyes.

"You never left this room after I came back from the speech. And I didn't let the bellboy in either that you phoned down for."

She believed him. So, it was just House she had to deal with. She supposed she could cope with that, at least she wouldn't be surprised by some stranger coming up to her and reminding her of their 'good time'. She'd never be allowed to forget it but it would be mentioned privately or oblique – unless House was slipped a roofie, too… or detoxing.

"House?" He looked irritated.

"We shared the bed?"

"You passed out and I'd be damned if I'd sleep in the chair. Besides, what's wrong with sleeping together so long as the operative word is sleep?" Well… "And, before you start nagging about anything else, remember that… overall, I was a good boy last night."

"What?"

"Did my speech, brought you food, did my knight in shining armour bit … okay, knight in tarnished armour."

"I wouldn't even go as far as to say tarnished armour - knight in odds and sods of armour stolen from various bodies, or places, attached with whatever was handy and left to hang by a thread until it drops off at which point you steal another bit – not necessarily the right bit just one that can function where you need it."

"Perhaps, but it was functional enough to save you pretty big ass last night and got the donation. Hope you've still got that safe." She grabbed her purse and checked, brought it out triumphantly.

"I'll bank this myself on Monday first thing. Are you ready to go?"

"Soon as you get your act together."

"I'll go pack my stuff."

"Already done. Yes – even the vibrator."

"What?"

"You wanted me to get it last night. Do you always bring it with you just for overnight stays? And before your lie to me - I asked you that last night – boy was the answer revealing."

"Why are you asking me that now then?"

"Just wondered what the masked Cuddy would say. So?"

"No. I don't always - and no supplementary questions."

"Spoil sport."

Pause. House looked up at the ceiling. Cuddy pretended to be busy with her organizer.

Pause. House gathered his backpack and cane. Cuddy pushed her organizer in her pocket and reached for her bag.

"What did I say last night?" Cuddy caved first.

"More or less the same thing only using different words and with a lot of additional material." She rolled her eyes.

"Tell me what I said?"

"Are you sure? Better for you to think you might have said something revealing than for me to open my mouth and confirm it."

"More fun at my expense."

"Actually, it was not fun, it was about as far from fun as I ever want to get. The odd gem of information you dropped was a bit like panning for gold in a lake full of alligators – not worth the danger." Did House, the man who put a knife in a wall socket to try to learn something, just say it wasn't worth the danger? Or did he mean to her? She'd have to think about that later when she didn't feel like her wits were surrounded by cotton wool.

"Really? How many day, weeks, months, years, decades am I going to have to wait for you to use up all the material you gathered last night?

"Oh, not that much – probably just about enough to wipe out my backlogged clinic hours and probably another decade of future clinic duty."

"Clinic hours are not up for negotiation. You've already promised that."

"Last night I promised not to reveal anything on pain of mutilation… I think it was mutilation could have been mutual sexual congress… can't remember the exact wording but I was planning on getting a better deal this morning…"

"No."

"Why not? Last night you had me over a barrel… maybe it was the chair, in a position where I'd agree to anything anyway."

"I'm holding you to it."

"Hey. New contract trumps old contract."

"You couldn't do it could you?" She said as an apparent non-sequitur.

"What?" he said, then as the penny dropped he looked away sheepishly. "Don't know what you're talking about."

"You couldn't do it. You couldn't take advantage of me when you thought I couldn't fight back, but this morning, even though I've got the hangover from hell, I'm fair game."

"Rubbish. You've no idea what time bombs I've set in motion." She smiled a million watt smile.

"You big softy."

"Don't you dare go ascribing qualities to me like soft I'm always hard. You got ample samples of that last night." He moved into her personal space. She was not distracted.

"Big softy," she repeated, playfully.

"Careful," he went for the threatening, gruff tone. She was undeterred and even narrowed the distance between their faces.

"Softy!"

"That does it. You're going to regret that…"

"House," she interrupted, with a sigh.

"What?" he snapped.

"Let's go home." She saw something akin to sympathy cross House's features.

"Hangover that bad? Want me to drive?"

"What about your poor, wounded hand? You know – the reason I'm here." Of course she'd let him drive. She was surprised… and relieved that he offered, but she couldn't just accept it gracefully. Any attempt by her to say that was 'nice' of him would have him awkwardly withdrawing so she kept up the attack which he knew how to deal with.

"In better condition than your head. Come on." And House accepted the unspoken thanks as gracefully as he could. They were almost in sync with each other. Cuddy took a minute to savour the camaraderie of the moment as they exited the room and headed for the elevators.

"Bet you can't drive me home without swearing at the traffic," she said, teasingly.

"You trying to claw back some of that clinic duty?" She looked coy.

"Nothing to claw back. You in or not?" They entered the elevator.

"Oh, you sneaky… What's the bet?" He couldn't resist of course, that would be a temptation too far.

"You do a month's worth of clinic without dodging, complaining, having a complaint raised against you…"

"Not interested." He cut her off. She was surprised. They exited the elevator and walked across the lobby to pay the bill.

"You're refusing a bet? Soft and wimpy," she goaded.

"Not interested in trading clinic duty. Dinner." They handed their keys to the receptionist.

"Again?" That was a surprise.

"Nyotaimori is a traditional Japanese way of eating sushi. It's where the plate is a perfectly still naked girl's body." Trust House to up the anti a thousand-fold while poking at any diehard feminist ideals. You'd think a man who didn't like change would opt for small, steady increments.

"I take it I'd be the naked girl?"

"And no body substitutes," he added, as he watched her pay the bill, wincing only slightly when she saw the room service charge.

"It which case, you can cook dinner for me wearing only the French Maid's apron." She called his bluff. The receptionist, normally a practiced non-listener when it came to customers, especially when they wanted something, raised her head. House stared at Cuddy.

"Is this a fantasy I should know about, Cuddy? That's the second time you've used that bet."

"You're stalling. Wimp!" She turned and walked towards the main doors.

"Oh, I'm in." They left the hotel and made their way towards Cuddy's car.

"You'll have to supply the sushi, I have no idea how to do it. I'll supply the apron."

"Fine. Fine." He nodded his head in agreement. Did he just gulp there? They put their bags in Cuddy's trunk, clambered into the car and set off. House broke the silence after a few blocks. Her head had been pounding too hard for her to be bothered trying for a conversation but she knew he wouldn't be quiet for long.

"I'm surprised you didn't go for Nantaimori - equal opportunities and all that."

"This will be where the plate is a male body?" she queried. He nodded.

"I don't like raw fish. I suppose it could be adapted for other foodstuffs… say chocolate, but I'd rather stick with my original choice."

Another pause followed as House negotiated the mobile chicanes otherwise known as motor bike couriers. She waited.

"You told me you loved Wilson… but only like a brother – I think you might have done that to soothe my ego," House lobbed into the silence. She smiled to herself. She knew he wouldn't be able to resist. He was sooo predictable - there was still so much more mileage he could get from last night.

"Seems unlikely," she replied. House was distracted by the traffic as he was cut up by a taxi. She watched as he opened his mouth to swear then snapped his jaw shut. She allowed a smile to appear on her face. It would only distract House more. They were quiet for a few more minutes as House navigated through the streets – teeth clenched.

"You're enjoying this," he accused her.

"What – not having control of the car… my car? I don't think so." The wide smile was giving her away.

"We did manage some educational conversations last night," he said, innocently. He was trying to distract her but this could work to her advantage.

"Oh, yes?" She glanced over at him expectantly.

"About the Karma Sutra – I really didn't know that about fellatio – I wonder how I managed to miss that?" She laughed.

"Not enough blood reaching the brain, possibly. There's another religion you don't want to join."

"You demonstrated several positions…" he baited. He really shouldn't play this game when he's driving, she thought.

"Which ones were they?" she cross baited, hiding her smile.

"Well, there was the one where you…" and he went off into a reverie, pamp went a horn behind him.

"Fuck!" House jolted back to reality and drove forward.

"I win," said a grinning Cuddy. House looked at her, then his face fell as he realised what she meant.

"Double fuck!" And Cuddy laughed loudly, even though it made her head hurt more. His face… he was just… gob-smacked!


	38. Manipulation 101

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Every human has four endowments- self awareness, conscience, independent will and creative imagination. These give us the ultimate human freedom... The power to choose, to respond, to change. - Stephen R. Covey

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

.

"Wilson, is it alright to snitch on people you work with?" A not untypical entrance by House to Wilson's office on a Monday morning.

"If what they are doing is illegal, detrimental to a patient or dangerous, yes. What did you do?" Wilson answered amiably enough, leaned back in his chair and waited to see where the conversation was going.

"So, I should tell people you wet the bed?" asked House, only the sparkle in his eye giving away the facetiousness of the question.

"None of the above," replied Wilson, unfazed.

"I should tell them about you dating a patient?" Okay, that was a low blow, Wilson stopped being complacent, leaned forward over his desk and started playing with his pen.

"Where are you going with this?" Wilson tried to get to the point before House dragged out all his past misdemeanours for his own amusement.

"If I get my team to break into someone's home to save a patient's life, Cuddy turns a blind eye – even though it's illegal."

"You're only now asking me if this is ethical?" asked a slightly puzzled Wilson.

"No, it's the right thing to do."

"For the patient?" House looked horrified.

"To solve the puzzle," stressed House.

"Of course," Wilson paused, thinking. "This has got to be about Cuddy."

"What! Are you, a woman? How did you make that logical leap?"

"It's no great leap. You reveal people's secrets all the time, your motto is everybody lies, your raison d'etre is to root them out and expose them. If someone had found out something about you and exposed it you'd either accept it as it was the right thing to do or you'd be getting even. You asking me if it's okay to snitch means not only are you the one with the information but that you're hesitant to use it. There aren't many people for whom you would hesitate, ergo…"

"If I went around telling everybody's secrets I'd never get any work done. I only do it when it's useful to me… or funny… or embarrassing to someone else… or…"

"So it is about Cuddy," interrupted Wilson. "What happened Friday?"

"What! How do you… No! This is not about Cuddy."

"Hmm… You don't have a problem snitching per se, so what you're uncomfortable with is not that you'd be revealing somebody's secrets but that you'd be doing it for no personal gain?"

"Maybe," House hedged.

"Or that you'd be revealing something now that you might benefit from more later?"

"Maybe."

"Or that it might be construed as altruistic – that you might be being nice…"

"Maybe."

"Except, of course, you'd be telling and that's not nice. So that's counterbalanced."

"Nice try, but no banana," said House, giving nothing away. Wilson sagged and stopped trying to fish for information surreptitiously.

"So what _is_ the problem?" Wilson asked.

"I'd be fraternizing with the enemy."

"The enemy?" Wilson was puzzled for a moment. "For God's sake, this is about Cuddy. What did you two fight about this time? Can't you two spend an evening together without arguing?"

"We didn't argue… we had an exchange of views. I wanted a view up her skirt she didn't want me viewing… anything, but, if she didn't want them viewed she shouldn't put them on display."

"What? Her skirts?"

"No, her assets," snapped House. Wilson looked thoughtful, as he often did when he was trying to out guess House.

"So… would this fraternizing be because you're not going to expose her assets when your modus operandi would be to send a global email or erect posters or start rumours…?"

"No."

"No? You've got something that Cuddy wants?"

"Warmer," House agreed. "She doesn't actually know I've got it, so she doesn't know she wants it yet. But, as a general piece of information that Cuddy might usefully use, then she wants it."

"Soooo, you haven't given it to her because…?" Wilson drew the question out, trying to tempt House into filling in the blanks.

"It's not for my benefit, not for a patient's benefit… not even for your benefit… unless you twist it slightly and look at it with squinty eyes, then it might be considered for the greater good."

"Huh?" An uninspired response from Wilson but he was having a problem connecting the dots at the moment.

"And I'd be snitching on a colleague," House returned to his original theme.

"And why wouldn't you…" began Wilson before an alarm went off in his head. "Which colleague? Is it something about me?"

"Conscience not clear, Wilson? No, it's not about you. It's one of Hacker's… satellites, can't call him crony he's not that important."

"I'll buy lunch," conceded Wilson, in case House needed to be seen to be bribed in order to reveal the information, "just spit it out."

"You're so easy" said House, "It's Peltz." Wilson looked astonished.

"A man you have no time for? I can't say a man you hate because you don't let him hit your consciousness that far if you can help it, but you're putting this man before Cuddy? I can't believe you. I can't believe you've wasted any time in thought, let alone time in soul searching about whether to tell Cuddy. You're unbelievable. On grounds of fraternizing with the enemy, who you say you aren't enemies with at the moment, you're withholding information? You who regard breaching somebody's privacy as a sport. Let alone considering that if you do something nice for Cuddy, without being asked, cajoled, bribed or blackmailed, you'd be putting nice in the bank for later when you're bad, illegal, dangerous or just plain nasty. It would be an excuse to talk to her a lunch without appearing to be fraternizing. You might even extend it to dinner – somewhere private without it appearing to be a date. She might eventually smile at you – who knows she might take you seriously and stop thinking of you as the unreliable, selfish jerk and more of a friend."

"I don't want a friend."

"Yes, you do," insisted Wilson.

"What I want is to get laid. I don't need to be a friend to have sex – it's just animal attraction."

"You do if you want Cuddy. You've gone passed the mere sexual attraction let's jump into bed stage. Let's face it, if that's what you really wanted you'd have put your nice face on and talked her into it month's ago."

"She's my boss. I'm not stupid."

"You sure?" House wandered over to the window and looked out.

"Yeah, positive. It would last a few weeks then I'd have screwed up, then I'd have got the sack."

"You've got tenure. She's your boss, she can't claim sexual harassment."

"Use you're imagination, Wilson. It wouldn't take her five minutes to find something she could sack me for if she really wanted to."

"That's true," said Wilson. House turned back from the window to look at him. "Any time you've pissed her off in the last decade she could have done that, but she never has, and she wouldn't in the future, she's too professional for that… Ah, I see where you're going, but that would be a monumental screw up even for you. Anyway, I can't see a little thing like your job stopping you from doing something you want to do."

"Or someone I want to do!" Wilson rolled his eyes.

"Ah, deflection. You want it to last for more than a few weeks." House took a breath to object. Wilson rushed on before House could say anything. "So be a friend. What is all this anyway? You asked me before if I was friends with my wives - you know that's what's needed."

"But snitching?"

"You don't have a problem with it," said Wilson, with an exasperated air.

"Telling on my fellow man?

"As if that bothered you - you're like Mark Twain - I believe I have no prejudices whatsoever. All I need to know is that a man is a member of the human race. That's bad enough for me..." House smirked, Wilson continued. "You're worried it will reveal too much about you. She already knows you're interested. You know she was interested but you screwed it up. Now you've got to unscrew it, which will take considerably more time, especially at the rate you screw while pretending to cover your anti screwing. You…"

"Oh, relax. Of course, I'm going to give it to her."

"What?" Wilson was momentarily stunned, then the penny dropped. "You… you… manipulative bastard. You were just winding me up!"

"Yeah. I thought it worked well. I hadn't seen a good rant in a while. You obviously needed to let off some steam. Feeling better now?"

"House… you're… one of these days…" he sighed. "What is it you've got anyway?

"Would you believe that Peltz did some modelling while at University…?" House waggled his eyebrows, mischievously.

"Peltz? What was he modelling, whisky barrels? I suppose we all do stupid things at Uni…"

"Really, do tell?" interrupted House.

"I got married. What evidence have you got?" House rummaged in his pockets then handed over some photos. Wilson took them and looked at them uncomprehendingly for a moment. Then his jaw dropped.

"Peltz… that's Peltz? Wow… he's really gone to seed since these were taken." There was another pause while Wilson scrutinized the photos some more. "Men look so different without hair… Do you think… do you think he had a full body wax?" The door swung open.

"Might have known I'd find you two thick as thieves," said Cuddy as she walked into the room. Wilson looked guilty. House looked smug. She open her mouth to say something else then noticed that Wilson had photos in his hand - she went white, swallowed hard and gave House a disbelieving look. That look quickly vanished to be replaced by a cold, hard, angry stare.

"You might want to take a look at these, Cuddy. I think you'll find them very… revealing," said House, suggestively.

"You bastard! I knew I couldn't trust you." She snatched the photos from a startled Wilson. "You're a low-down, clinic dodging, pill-popping, degenerate, unprincipled, unscrupulous, limping scum…" She paused mid rant as she registered that the photos weren't what she thought they were.

"I thought you said you two hadn't argued on Friday," asked a bemused Wilson to House.

"Correct," House confirmed… economically.

"What did she think those photos were?"

"No idea. You should ask her. She probably thought they were revenge for the Photoshopped ones of me she showed you."

"Yes, but…" Wilson started. Cuddy interrupted.

"Why are you showing me these?"

"You're not interested in the male physique, Cuddy?" queried House. "Anatomy class? Physiological changes due to aging? Machiavellian undertones to board negotiations?"

"Board nego… Oh my God, it's Peltz!" She stared in surprised horror at the photographs, then tried to suppress a smile.

"Use them wisely oh mistress of the boardroom," said House. She sobered and shook her head.

"I don't blackmail people, House."

"Really, I'll save them then, never know when they might come in useful. Give 'em back." She hesitated. He gave her a prod. "Think of it more like a motivational aid. You're going to motivate him to move away from the dark side, otherwise he might never get out. You know how it is when people spiral down, they need help and support to get out of the gutter, otherwise they get dragged back down by the people with them. Help poor Peltz to the light."

"How do you know he wouldn't want people to see these? He might enjoy flaunting his… physique rather than be embarrassed?" Cuddy asked.

"True, if he'd had a physique. He's what, a seven stone weakling in these photographs - modelling underwear. Now he looks like a tub of lard – in all directions. Oh the jesting possibilities if these come to light. I hope you realise what I'm sacrificing here." A cunning, mischievous look passed over his face. "Tell you what, meet me in the canteen at lunchtime. I'll set him up, you just have to take the capitulation."

"House…"

"Trust me. I know you don't recognise me without my cape but I'm the arch manipulator. It will be all very discreet." He left the office briskly. He heard them both speaking as he left.

"Now I really am worried," said Cuddy.

"What did you think the photos were of, Cuddy?" asked Wilson, innocently.

House smiled to himself all the way to the elevator. Chaos, panic, mayhem - his job had just begun.


	39. Blackmail 101

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Few men have virtue to withstand the highest bidder. – George Washington

.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

.

Lisa Cuddy sat in the canteen eating a salad, slowly, because you could guarantee that House would be late and she'd be sat there looking like she was waiting for somebody. She had a medical journal at the side of her plate which she appeared to be engrossed in. Externally, she was radiating her usual calm, controlled self, internally, she was a seething mass of impatience.

Niggling at the back of her mind was why House had old photographs of Peltz. She couldn't quite believe it was anything she said on Saturday, so, it had to be coincidence… still. However, she was less concerned with that at the moment and more in favour of some slow and painful torture for House. That she'd walked into Wilson's office at that particular moment was serendipitous… for House. That House had let her jump to conclusions was sheer devilment on his part. As a consequence, she'd given Wilson enough information for him to be overly curious about what had happened on Friday. That House had been vague up to that point was obvious from Wilson's subsequent questions so he'd now have enough leeway to get her to shoulder some of the blame if Wilson did discover what happened.

She'd told Wilson that it was something that House had overheard her say to someone else about the power of computer photo manipulation software, worse nightmares, naked photographs and people who needed to keep their reputation intact. She'd coupled that with House's tendency for blackmail, bribery or just plain rumour-mongering to explain her sensitivity when she saw the photos, especially (she followed House's lead here), when she'd given Wilson photoshopped pictures of House a few weeks ago. Wilson had shut up, but he hadn't appeared convinced, which meant that he'd try to wheedle it out of House himself.

Meanwhile, House had been lying low, no doubt avoiding her. It wouldn't surprise her if he didn't appear in the canteen, which would just ratchet up her frustration another notch. And that was another thing, she'd been on hormone overdrive since Friday – at the rate she was going a stiff breeze and a picture of Ho… Harman, Mark Harman, Patrick Demsey, Kiefer Sutherland… any blue-eyed male that wasn't House would be enough to trigger the series of involuntary muscle contractions in the anus, lower pelvic muscles, and sexual organs, accompanied by a sudden release of endorphins providing a feeling of euphoria – except the euphoria would be muted. Whatever, she certainly didn't want to be in any drafty corridors with House.

Peltz came in a minute or so after and glanced round the canteen before joining the queue. She had a sneaking suspicion that his being in the canteen at this time was part of a House ploy but where was House? Fortunately, for her self-control, House entered the canteen and joined the queue for food behind Peltz. Using sheer determination, she focused on the journal and not on House's progress along the line – she used her peripheral vision for that.

She saw it coming. He was going to dodge paying and create a scene, normal House behaviour but who was he going to pull into this fracas, Peltz or her? She wished she knew what his plan was because he definitely had one, otherwise he'd be sponging off Wilson like he normally did! She shouldn't condone this behaviour… she really shouldn't. She knew he was going to blackmail Peltz or at least put the fear of blackmail in Peltz's mind. Was Peltz a 'publish and be damned person' or a 'protect his reputation person'? House obviously thought Peltz had some weakness he could play on and he wasn't often wrong. Was she letting House do her dirty work? Well, yes, but then again taking out the trash is what she paid people for and she'd hired House to do the things she couldn't or wouldn't – not that she'd had this in mind when she hired him but manipulation was one of his strengths. Normally he was using it against her but here he was apparently using it for her benefit – should she be suspicious or should she just sit back and watch a master at work?

"Dr Peltz is paying for my lunch," said House, unnecessarily loudly. Now she had an excuse to look up. Peltz obviously refused to pay, House accused him of reneging on a deal, Peltz denied, House persisted, Peltz started to bluster, House glanced her way. That was obviously her cue. For the curious amongst the onlookers she gave a put-upon sigh and walked over to the till.

"I've got it," she said, handing the money over to the cashier. Both men, wearing looks of righteous indignation, tried to speak to her at once. She put her hand up. "I don't want to hear it, I'd just like to eat my lunch quietly and not feel I'm in a playground." She turned to go back to her table. Peltz mumbled something under his breathe, slight twinge of conscience fighting with his dignity. House, predictably, followed her back to her table, still trying to state his case.

Once back at her table and out of immediate earshot of the inquisitive if she kept her voice low, "What were you playing at?" she hissed at him.

"Setting Peltz up. I'm playing Dr. Nasty your part is Dr. Nice, so he ends up being eternally grateful to you. I'm even going to let you order me about – if necessary." She waved a hand dismissively.

"I'm talking about Wilson this morning. You were going to let me drop myself in it."

"It was all so quick, Cuddy," He said, his expression guileless. "I didn't know you were going to jump to the wrong conclusion. Anyway, I gave you a get out clause. I hope you used it."

"You're a lying toad!" She leaned further forward, he matched her. To the curious it just looked like one of their normal spats.

"Ribbet." She smiled despite herself.

"Yes, I used it, but he's still suspicious," she said.

"Of course he is. He scents intrigue and the man's got ferret genes spliced with his monkey ones. He's going to wonder how I came across the pictures of Peltz next. Now I can say we were discussing the perils of intoxication on the journey home on Saturday, that I vaguely remember something about gathering evidence, and the depths that some people will go to for revenge. None of which is a lie."

"But Wilson will jump to the wrong conclusion, assume you were drunk and that I… what challenged you to find incriminating photos of Peltz?"

"Close, insisted that I couldn't have any incriminating photos of you."

"I suppose that's one interpretation of what I said."

"Therefore I spent the rest of the weekend diligently searching through old lingerie catalogues convinced you'd modelled to pay your way through college. But, what a surprise, when I found Peltz instead - I had to double check the bottle to make sure someone hadn't tampered with my tipple," he waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Okay, you're obsessive enough to do that. Will Wilson really buy it?"

"Enough to knock him off the scent for now. No saying he won't come back to it if he hears a trigger word."

"I also told him that you overheard me in conversation about computer photo manipulation software, worse nightmares, naked photographs and people who need to keep their reputation intact." House nodded.

"I should be able to segue that in." There was a pause, then Cuddy started to ask a question.

"Why were you… no, silly question." She shook her head.

"Why was I what? Browsing through old lingerie catalogues – apart from the obvious?"

"I think it's sad that you get your kicks that way."

"Yeah, I normally spend hours leafing through back issues of shopping catalogues, Playgirl and other forgettable mags looking for dirt on board members. Now if it had been Taylor or Busty I'd have found it years ago," he said, mentioning two women board members. "Although I'm not sure even I'd have perused any fetish magazine that would have had Taylor in it – squinty-eyed ironing board that she is."

"House!"

"What?"

"Do you have to be so demeaning?"

"I've got big hands, I like curves, curves that fit in my hand, but if they have to err, I prefer them to err in the overflowing direction as opposed to the disappearing when flat on your back version."

"So why did you spend hours looking for Peltz?"

"You said you wanted help getting at Hacker. I'm aiming to isolate him by getting at his groupies. I'd heard a rumour…" Okay, she'd said that… as an off the cuff remark. She hadn't expected him to take any notice. She'd have to think about that later. He fished the photos out of his pocket.

"There's not much point trying to hold this over his head if you reveal all in the canteen."

"Well, technically, it's Peltz who revealed all," he said, waggling the photos in the air.

"What do you want for these?"

"I'm just wheedling my way into your good graces," he said in wide eyed innocence.

"Why?"

"Why not? You're the boss, I should suck up, kiss your ass – that's right isn't it?"

"You never suck up. It's against your religion." He was obviously toying with several responses to that, as he was momentarily speechless, although his lips were moving. Eventually, his brain unfroze and he went with something… innocuous.

"Change of tactic."

"You don't do change."

"True, so I'm just being my usual underhand, manipulative self for reasons not yet revealed." She looked anxious. House sighed.

"Don't worry I'm not planning anything horrible for your baby - either of them." He jerked forward, placing the pictures between them and pointing. "I think my patient may be suffering from hypertrichosis. The question is is it congenital or acquired? If it's acquired there are multiple causes - side effect of drugs, cancer or hormone imbalance like hyperthyroidism. What do you think? If you look in these pictures – five years ago full head of hair but complete loss of body hair. Now he's totally bald but supports a full beard, even got hairs growing out of his nose and a really hairy back - you should see him in the locker room. Oh, hello Peltz didn't see you there. What do you think? A case of the shrivelled testes or Hirsute Embarrassment Syndrome?"

"That's hardly my area of… oh my God!" Peltz went rigid and then a gratifying shade of puce. Cuddy watched in fascinated admiration as House reeled in his minnow.

"What do you think? Hand Bills? Email? Newsletter? Ten foot poster in the lobby?" House asked.

"I'll sue," responded Peltz.

"For what? Those pictures are in the public domain," replied House.

"But reproduction of them would be against copyright," persisted Peltz, confidently. House gave a sly smile.

"I thought about that. I contacted the company, they were more than happy to let me have the originals – they practically paid me to take them away."

"I'll buy them from you," offered Peltz, beginning to look a little green around the gills.

"How much?" asked House, seemingly interested.

"What you paid for them." Even Cuddy winced at that reply. House just looked… gleeful.

"Cheapskate, that doesn't cover me for the time and effort I put in to finding these objects d'art. Did you wax or sugar?" House upped the torment.

"I'll double what you paid for them," said Peltz, beginning to sweat. House shook his head looking disappointed.

"You see, the problem is I'm not interested in money. I'm more interested in favours…" led House. Cuddy tried to keep her face straight. House, not interested in money?

"I'll owe you a favour then," Peltz said, somewhat desperately.

"Oh, no. I want something specific and in writing. I don't want you reneging making up some excuse."

"Dr. Cuddy, you can't allow this. This is detrimental to the hospital."

"How is owing Dr. House a favour detrimental to the hospital?" She let Peltz stew for a minute before adding, "I'm sure Dr. Peltz can be trusted Dr. House." House snorted.

"I don't think so. He's in an elliptical orbit around Hacker, that man corrupts everyone around him. Apart from what to eat for lunch, Peltz doesn't make a non-medical decision without him."

"I'm sure that's not true, is it Dr. Peltz?" asked Cuddy sweetly, turning to look at Peltz.

"Of course not," Peltz blustered. "I'm completely independent in my decisions made after an objective and rational analysis of the facts."

"So, what was your rationale behind your dealings with Hacker while Dr. Cuddy's back was turned?" Cuddy adopted a look of surprised dismay.

"I did nothing of the kind!" said a very guilty looking Peltz. His eyes darted round looking for a means of escape.

"You've been dabbling in hospital politics, Peltz. You're guilt by association. What did he offer you? Bigger desk? More staff?"

"No!"

"No, of course not, that's so petty. If you had a bigger budget then you could control those things yourself," sneered House.

"Well you would know. You and your department swallow up thousands of dollars in broken equipment and lawsuits and she lets you…." He trailed off and looked uncertainly at Cuddy, red tingeing his cheeks.

"Oh jealously, how boring. The thing is I bring in the big bucks you bring in the little dimes. Hacker won't care about you once he's got what he wants, you'd be much better kissing ass elsewhere – and if you have to kiss ass hers is in better shape than most." Peltz looked uncertainly between House and Cuddy.

"Tell you what, that's my favour."

"What?"

"I'll give Dr. Cuddy the photos for safe keeping. She'll give them to you when she thinks her ass has been sufficiently kissed." Peltz looked worriedly confused, then the penny started to drop. He looked wildly from House to Cuddy who was now gathering up the photos, smiling – the sort of smile a shark gives just before it swallows its prey whole.

"I'll leave you two love birds alone," House said, getting up and heading for the exit. Peltz gulped, looked at House's retreating back then back to Cuddy.

"Have you got something on him, too?"

"I don't indulge in blackmail, Dr Peltz. Dr. House can be very amenable, focused and determined when given the right motivation."

"You're sleeping with him," he accused. Cuddy sighed, dramatically and rolled her eyes.

"Is this an independent decision made after an objective and rational analysis of the facts?"

"House never does favours for anybody."

"True, Dr. House's motivation will be selfish. Despite appearances to the contrary, he is not blind to office politics. Whatever he is observing at the moment is not to his liking." She let that sink in and stared at Peltz until he fidgeted. "He has his own reasons for doing things and his own methods for getting his point across. I generally find that he does give you clues to what's on his mind in what he's says, even if it is mentioned obliquely. Did his point pass you by?"

"No," he said, sourly.

"Excellent. I think we're done here." She smiled at him, gathered her things and walked away.


	40. Plot, plan, prepare, pounce

.

The last temptation is the greatest treason: to do the right deed for the wrong reason. - T. S. Eliot

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

.

House sat in his office, leaning back in his chair, bouncing the ball off the wall. He had ten minutes before he should be doing clinic duty but he was deep in thought, running all the details through his head for the millionth time and all he seemed to end up with was more questions. This was the puzzle of the decade, hell, the half century, his half century. It would be really enjoyable if it wasn't all so personally close.

Was she going to collect? So far she hadn't mentioned it – maybe because it was tied up with Friday night and she was trying to block that out of her mind. Maybe she was waiting to see if he wasn't… discreet. Maybe she was playing with his head. Maybe she'd thought twice about it and just let it slide. What was he thinking? This was Cuddy she'd have thought about it at least six times. Truthfully, he had rather hoped she'd drop it - a bit difficult to get the upper hand in a conversation if you were naked, unless of course you were both naked… or both aiming to be naked, and he was fairly sure at this point that being naked was not on Cuddy's agenda. If he felt more confident… he knew how she felt about him now, but that didn't mean she would act on it. There were just too many ways this could go wrong.

Naked. An apron was almost there, right? One little tweak on the apron strings and… there he'd be … exposed to Cuddy for her enjoyment… or not. And maybe that was the point – he'd be vulnerable. Not that he was prudish about being naked – didn't like showing his leg, especially to strangers, but he was very fond of being naked… in the right circumstances. He was very fond of the naked body, well, naked female body especially, if it was a hot female body, especially, if it was a hot female body with his name on it. But was Cuddy just getting her own back, was she trying to teach him a lesson for the French maid outfit, did she have some nefarious plan of her own, had she just been caught up in the moment and was now second guessing herself? Knowing Cuddy she was doing all of them – ever the over achiever!

Naked. And why had he agreed? Did he think that the sight of his nearly naked body was going to have her slavering all over him or laughing her ass off? Making a woman laugh was supposed to be good but he'd rather she was drooling. He sighed – laughing was more likely – he was too idle to exercise just for the sake of it and he was paying the price—flabby muscles were losing out to gravity – and really he should do something about that. But at least he hadn't gone to seed like Peltz. Although seed implied a somewhat hard, compact, round fruitfulness, whereas Peltz's roundness was more like a blancmange, he certainly shook like one as he walked along.

Where was he? Oh yes, Cuddy and bodies – now there was a body kept in trim, and wasn't it worth the hours of effort that went into that – well, he thought so, but it wasn't his effort. He'd think less if he could get his hands on it. Thinking had been very difficult when he'd had his hands on it last week, somehow he'd kept at it… the thinking, but then he hadn't had his hands on her for the right reason. He'd had his hands on her to try to stop her having her hands on him. The things she'd revealed, admitted to… How to get her to admit them while in possession of her faculties there was the problem.

Perhaps she never would. Not only had she been honest about her feelings she had been honest about why she wouldn't act on them. He thought he had some wiggle room there and had started to explore various arguments against her stance when she'd jumped him. God Damn Woman. He grinned. What would he do to get her like that again? Well, like that only conscious of it or even half like that but conscious of it – a lot, he'd give a lot. He might even do clinic duty without whinging… okay, with whinging but he'd do the hours. Unfortunately, that was probably not enough. She was hot for him but… she'd had a list of things… reasons why it, they, wouldn't work. It started off as a similar list to last time except this time it was longer, although some of the things she'd said last time seemed to be way down her list this time, so she'd obviously been thinking about it – this was a good sign, right? He'd pointed out that he was the one who was supposed to be negative, she should be giving a positive, rosy-glow to it. She'd said it was an evening of role reversal and she challenged him to put the positive counter arguments - if there were any.

So, as usual, he'd found himself arguing with her, but from the wrong angle. It was odd. He'd started with there'd be sex which was good, followed by there'd be regular sex – that would be better. Then sex itself would be good, sex was beneficial to the wellbeing, developing his theme, at which point she'd called him on it. She'd dared him to mention a feeling. He'd said he didn't have feelings for her. She said he was a lying coward – he paraphrased, but that was the gist of what she said. He said she'd turned into Cameron. She'd smiled… evilly – a big, wide smile that reached her eyes, lit up her whole face. She'd leaned forward, provocatively and said very deliberately and provokingly that she liked him. Time had stood still, his heart had pounded in his chest, there was a roaring in his ears as the blood rushed through his veins, the need to deflect, or mock so strong – was telling the truth really that difficult? Finally, not wanting her to be right, he'd mumbled he liked her, well, some bits of her more than others he'd added to mitigate, and the pendulum had whooshed on.

He'd admitted a lot of things – a) because, as she'd said, she wouldn't remember and if she did… once they'd started, it didn't seem as if it would be all bad but mostly because she admitted to things and he just sort of responded and b) because while they were talking she wasn't trying to jump him, the bell boy or a passing stranger in the hotel corridor. He stopped bouncing his ball for a moment and shifted uncomfortably remembering what he had revealed and what he had found out. She'd told him about Llyn. She was going to be pissed about that. She was going to be pissed about a lot of things if she found out he knew. Discretion was going to be the order of the day – there was one from her list – discreet. Discreet and Greg House did not go together – check. Discreet and Dean of Medicine's private life needed to go together – check. Discreet and Dean of Medicine doing it with an employee need to go together – double check. Discreet and Dean of Medicine doing it with an employee who was him – quadruple check.

He could do discreet – he could, with the right incentive but here was the catch 22, did discreet mean he never mention what she said, even to her? Difficult as something was bound to slip eventually, then there'd be trouble, with a big T. If he mentioned stuff to Cuddy now would she think he was being an ass? If he tried to wheedle it out of her she'd know he'd found out, unless he was very careful with what he said, when, where – it sounded a lot like diplomacy to him which he didn't have – another from the list – her life revolved around donors, functions, people – she'd need him to be diplomatic – she'd settle for him keeping his mouth shut but that wasn't him was it? Check.

Loyalty, fidelity, trust – very high on her list. He seemed to be scoring on the loyalty front and he could do fidelity, really, he could. Regular sex was probably enough to stop him straying, so long as he could flirt, admire and generally not suppress his instincts. Getting his needs met by Cuddy, and a small part of his brain acknowledge that it wasn't just sex he needed, he definitely wouldn't stray. But he'd spent a lifetime being a bad boy – other people's wives, girlfriends, significant others all fair game. Two-timing, standing them up he'd been there done that so it was difficult to explain why he wouldn't if he had Cuddy. If she asked 'What if he was tempted?' What could he say? He thought his track record was good compared to Wilson, for example, but only because he'd never committed… well, maybe once, so he couldn't be considered to be caught in a lie. And trust? He sighed. She trusted his medical judgement, but otherwise he was unreliable and emotionally… not a chance.

Basically, the reputation he'd worked so hard to cultivate was against him and he was running out of time to convince Cuddy otherwise. She hadn't said that directly but that also was obvious from what she had said. As he'd suspected, she was preparing to pack her metaphorical bags to move on and she was hoping he wouldn't make too much of a fuss about that – they'd still be friends after all. Fuss? No, he wouldn't make a fuss, but if she packed any bags he'd make sure he was hiding out in one of them. There was no way he was letting her go that easily, not after Friday, well, probably not from before that but double definitely not since Friday.

She'd been bewitching, as if he wasn't already hooked. Very open about what she wanted that evening – sex – except it hadn't been just animal attraction, it had been because she liked him, despite herself, because his mind intrigued her, had always intrigued her, and smart is sexy. At that point, he'd thought sexy was smart but he wasn't going to argue – he wasn't in a state to argue.

Apparently, she liked him in blue, well he knew that - he liked her in blue… and red and white and silky… and possibly black and lacy and in nothing – yeah, flesh colour was his favourite. She'd smiled at him, teased him, touched him, stroked him – his arms, hand, face, chest, legs and several times she'd got as far as his package. He'd had to stop that… well, try to stop that, there was a limit to his restraint after all, and she'd pushed it to the boundaries and kept pushing – talk about receiving your own medicine.

She'd laughed, whispered sweet nothings in his ear, nibbled his neck, licked his ear. Every time he'd got her to sit in the chair and asked her a question hoping to distract her, she'd wormed her way back over to him and sat on his knee, played with his hair, his ears, hands stroking down his shoulders. God, he wanted it for real. He'd settle for half that… joyfulness. She'd been like a siren – he couldn't resist her, couldn't help responding, the gorgeously wanton minx that she was. And boy, had he wanted her.

He could have just given in but he wanted her for keeps. Jesus, if she ever found out… He'd watched her that morning wondering whether he should wake her or not, whether he should just sneak out, go home and wait – tempting, very tempting, pretend that nothing had happened at all. He couldn't decide which was worse, her remembering or her not remembering.

He now knew that if he could get passed her defences, Shangri-La awaited – he also knew that if he tried to rush those defences he'd lose. If he made a beeline for the weaknesses he knew to be there he'd lose… he had to get her to repeat at least some of the things she'd said. She'd talked about Rachel, with the 'light of love' in her eyes, naturally, her future scenarios bore no sense of reality, and it was all very boring but at least safe, then she'd talked about him… with a similar look in her eyes – soft, dreamy… happy, tender. She'd talked, with hardly any conversation filters in place - sometimes she hated him but most of the time she liked him. She could have loved him if he'd only let her – but all too late now. He'd negated – it's what he does, but it wasn't out of habit. Yes, she had Rachel now but he could fit. She'd given a little ironic laugh and said 'By fit you mean drive a wedge between…'. He'd denied. She'd pointed out he was selfish, he wouldn't want to share her attention, he might not mean to do it but that's who he was. He started to deny again but she'd just cut him off. 'You can what, House? Change? It doesn't matter House – but if you want sex in the here and now, I'm ready willing and available. Come on, what's wrong with you? I thought you'd always be up for sex. I can see you want me, so what's stopping you?' Then she'd been all over him, again.

Never would he have imagined on Friday afternoon that he'd be the one fighting Lisa Cuddy off! If there was a supreme being it was laughing its head off. Couldn't he for once catch a break? The thing was he wanted to see that look on her face for real, just for him… okay, Rachel could have most of the cute ones, he could share, really. He'd settle for once a day for him… opening offer… if she offered once a week, he'd fold – it was that close he could practically touch it, it was like being a fingernail width away, he could smell it, almost taste it, it was just behind that wall, that six feet thick, thirty foot high stone wall with the gun turrets and bared wire along the top. But he knew it was there he just had to get to it. The question was, how? Battering ram, tunnel underneath, dynamite, parachute in?

He'd broached the problem with Wilson, who, in his infinite optimism had said 'Ever thought of just knocking on the door and wheedling or, maybe, she just might invite you if you ask nicely.' Okay, he had a point, the asking nicely wouldn't work, he'd gone passed that, unless there was some traumatic incident, sickness or accident, that just wasn't going to work. And, if he was stupid enough to try to manufacture such a situation, if he was ever found out he'd be doomed, so no, not going there. But wheedling… that was more Wilson's forte – turn up at the door every day for weeks with flowers, candy, music, perfume, gifts… that wasn't going to work for him… except the music had worked hadn't it? She'd liked the lullaby.

Music tended to be a private part of him, one of his escape routes… music wasn't to be used to… ahh, that was the point she was making with her not knowing his favourites list – he didn't share himself. He balked at further analysis, this was dangerously close to flirting with introspection. He scowled. Naked - his endgame. He closed his eyes and swallowed. Lisa Cuddy naked. Okay, he liked flirting; let's flirt with the music idea for a minute.

Unfortunately, musical gifts tended to be occasional rather than for every day. He was sure if he'd sent her a recording of him singing a sappy love song everyday she'd be pissed by day three. Could he actually bring himself to sing 'Love is a many splendid thing'? Uck, no. Now 'Relax by Frankie goes to Hollywood' much more what he had in mind but tricky to perform it. He supposed he could just send her a recording to get his point across, trouble was there could be 'Suspicious Minds' and he might get 'Return to Sender', especially if she twigged he was using it for manipulation.

Wasn't all male – female relationship interaction manipulation? Even nature got into the act – creating women with curves that attracted a mate's eye, triggered the autonomic nervous system. After that it was all a load of strutting to convince the other that they were genetically the most fit to breed with. Shake those tail feathers, puff out the chest… sing… Fortunately, in humans it wasn't all about breeding, women had the ability to use copulation as a means of retaining the male. He was prepared to be retained.

So what about tail feathers did Cuddy find attractive? She'd given him clues. Clues? What was he saying? She'd drawn him a map in very fine detail, most of which said 'there be dragons'. He needed to devise a strategy. Where to start - Hacker, Rachel, smiling, clinic duty, pain management – he scowled, billing – he doubled scowled. Perhaps this wasn't a good idea. He closed his eyes, there was her face practically burned into his retinas, that and her boobs which he really hadn't had chance to admire fully although she'd done her best to flash them at him. Life sucked! So cheesy headline – if life gives you lemons make lemonade - you just have to get off your ass to do it. He could hear her voice now 'Get off your ass and go to clinic'. Bugger! Want trumped idleness, he reached for his cane.


	41. Pique, Parry, Passé, Passatasotto

.

If music be the food of love, play on - William Shakespeare

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

.

Cuddy was just coming out of the elevator as House reached it. They both dodged to the left, then they both dodged to the right. Cuddy frowned and looked at him appraisingly.

"Shall we dance?" he asked, taking her hand. Catching Cuddy off guard, he pulled her towards him then pushed her back out and spun her while breaking into song before Cuddy could get a 'what?' out. If her brain had had time to process she'd have thought she was in some cheesy soap opera.

"I could have danced all night, I could have danced all night and still have begged for more," House took a breath, "I could..."

"Have raised my foot and kicked your butt all the way to the clinic floor!" Cuddy spoke back.

"Way to spoil the mood, Cuddy! I was just on my way..." he parried. She scoffed, interrupting him.

"I was just on my way," he reiterated, "when I was distracted by your soft, round qualities... they're very hypnotic the way they sway…" He swung his head backwards and forwards his eyes focused on her breasts.

"Then follow me to the ground floor," she said, pressing the button for the elevator with one hand while trying to free her other from House's grasp.

"Remember not to turn your back to me, Gorgon, or the spell will be broken." She looked exasperated then played along backing into the elevator and pressing the button as he followed her in, eyes never wavering from his favourite part of her anatomy. When the elevator arrived at their floor he did let go of her hand but he still followed her to the clinic doing his best droopy, mesmerized impression as he went. She slapped a patient file against his chest which he ignored.

"Get hold of the file, House." He did. She continued. "You will do clinic duty for the next two hours. You will not sign out early. You will see patients and not be distracted by games, toys, television, magazines or anything not medically related. Do you understand?"

"Yes, mistress," he nodded, vacantly.

"Then go." She pointed. He shuffled towards the examination rooms, his face slack-jawed and expressionless. She hid a smile.

"By the way," she called after him. "The cheque's cleared." She couldn't see his face but House's eyes lit up, then he came to a realisation. He turned quickly, suddenly animated.

"You didn't come to chase me about clinic, did you?"

"No." She smiled, wickedly.

"Damn!"

"You're not getting out of it."

"I've been had under false pretences."

"Just get on with your job." The subtext was not lost on House. He huffed then turned back to the exam rooms.

.*.*.*.*.*.

When Cuddy got back to her desk she found an email with an attachment from Wilson. There was no subject line or text just the attachment. As it was from Wilson she opened it and 'I'm bad to the bone' by George Thorogood started playing. She frowned at it then deleted it. Some time later, she got up and went over to her filing cabinets, out of the corner of her eye she saw House sneaking out early. She scurried to her office door and yelled after him.

"House!" He winced visibly but did stop walking.

"Do you have to yell, woman. You've already got a pound of my flesh, do you have to try and make me deaf, too?" She gave him her 'I'm not impressed' look.

There was obviously a war going on in House's head as she watched him. Finally he seemed to reach a decision. She waited for excuse 1032 and for him to scurry off. As he'd actually done an hour and a half in the clinic she'd probably not waste time harrying him any more but she needed to make the point. To her complete shock he turned round and went back to the clinic. The only thing normal about that was the completely dejected manner.

As she walked back into her office something occurred to her. She went to her deleted emails and pulled up Wilson's message. 'I'm bad to the bone…' - that had to be House. Puzzled, she moved it to one of her save folders.

Five days later and she'd amassed quite a collection. The following morning it had been an email from Thirteen, no subject or text just an attachment. She opened it to hear some classical violin piece which she didn't recognise but enjoyed listening to. The following days brought several such messages. She'd recognised the 'Arrival of the Queen of Sheba' from Foreman as well as 'One more night' which she thought was Phil Collins. Taub sent 'Ride of the _Valkyries'__._ Kutner's contribution was 'Hit me with your rhythm stick' followed by 'Will you' by Hazel O'Conner. 'Owner of a lonely heart' was another one from Wilson. There were a couple of songs from Chase, rock or heavy metal she wasn't sure but the words 'you nearly got me' were easily distinguishable in one of them. A second one from Thirteen was 'Don't touch me there' while 'Nights in white satin' came from Cameron. There were other classical pieces from Cameron and Taub she recognised but couldn't name, while the one from the janitor she didn't even recognise. She'd even sent herself one – 'Only you' by Alison Moyet.

She didn't know what to think. It was making her think! It was obviously intriguing… on many levels. House knew she would find it intriguing but what game was he playing? She wasn't getting the 'this is going to be bad' vibe - although with House she could never be sure. She couldn't see a pattern but perhaps if she knew what the other songs were it would make more sense. Perhaps they were just random selections of music, although House would never do something like this without careful planning and a hidden agenda… unless it was a double bluff just to mess with her head. That could be it… House didn't like the fact that her attention was on Rachel and not on him, so he was coming up with even more creative ways of claiming it. As if she didn't have enough things to do. If she'd been short of time before Rachel she was even more short of time now trying to balance her work and home life, the last thing she needed was pointless distractions. However, as distractions went this was pretty mild by House's standards but ultimately that was bound to be what it was so she resolved to think no more about it.

A resolve that lasted all of half an hour and twenty nine minutes of that was because she was on the phone to the insurance company rep. Damn the man. What did it mean? Was this House sharing? Did he really like this stuff or was it some musical joke she hadn't quite fathomed? Damn the man - she was thinking about him again. She was not going to do this. She was not.

An hour and a half and several crises and distractions later she was back in her office and despite her best intentions her eye was drawn back to that saved folder. Damn the man. She went to lunch.

Naturally, she was part way through her lunch when Wilson joined her. After a few minutes of hospital gossip she just had to ask.

"What sort of music does House listen to?" She hated herself…. Damn the man. Wilson was slightly taken back at the non-sequitur but went with it.

"Everything. He has a preference for jazz and he doesn't like musicals otherwise he's as eclectic in his choice of music as he is in his reading. And, despite the fact he doesn't like musicals he still seems to know the songs and words and will use them, even sing them, if it suits his agenda." He replied with a quizzical look on his face, which she ignored.

"Why?" Trust Wilson to not let it drop. Having no ready answer, she shrugged noncommittally. Wilson was about to press the point when the object under discussion, wired into his iPod, walked into the canteen.

There was a long silence as they both watched him work his way along the line putting a selection of unhealthy food items on his tray. As he got to the till, Wilson got half way out of his chair on his way to pay before there was an argument, when House paid and walked towards them. The look of shock on both Cuddy's and Wilson's face caused House's lips to twitch as he tried not to smile, especially when Wilson fell back heedlessly. Fortunately, for Wilson, his chair was still in a position to catch him. House joined them at the table, then looked at them both staring at him.

"What?" asked House, innocently. Wilson and Cuddy both spoke together.

"You just paid?" asked a stunned Wilson.

"What are you listening to?" asked Cuddy.

Naturally, they both had different priorities to the things on their minds. House looked… coy? nooo, he didn't do coy, sly maybe, with a hint of victory. Of course he was, he'd got what he wanted – her attention. Damn the man.

"As Wilson is stating the obvious, I'll go with why?" asked House, then bit into his burger.

"Wilson and I have a bet," Cuddy rushed to answer before Wilson could say anything and hoped it was as good as a quelling look which she couldn't really give Wilson at the moment without exciting House's interest. House looked like he would enquire further but when he spoke he gave the answer.

"Onslow's Piano Sonata No. 1 in E minor for 4 hands… the second movement." He looked backward and forward between them. They both looked blank. "So who won?"

"I don't know it," said Cuddy.

"Me neither," said Wilson. "I guess we both lost?" He looked at Cuddy questioningly.

"What does it sound like? Maybe one of us knows it but doesn't recognise the name." Cuddy risked a glance at House. He was smirking under that quizzical look, she just knew it. However, he duly obliged and passed the iPod over, while still munching his way through his lunch. Cuddy listened, as expected it was one of the classical pieces in her email collection, she'd listen to it often enough. She handed the iPod over to Wilson.

"I've heard it before but didn't know its name," she said. Wilson listened. He shook his head.

"Still don't recognise it."

"Not surprised, you don't often hear it played. Where did you hear it, Cuddy?" House asked, using his best innocent expression again. Cunning bastard she thought.

"Blue," she said, trying for cryptically.

"The janitor?" asked Wilson.

"It was on his radio," she temporised. "I just heard it in passing,"

"Wow, Cuddy!" said, House, "I didn't realise you had such a wonderful musical memory." Damn the man, she thought. She waited for the mocking. Wilson was watching and listening with completely unashamed interest. House deliberately drew out the pause before his next _revelation_ by sipping his soda. House sipping soda – he never did anything so… so… so refined. He was deliberately toying with her. Bastard. She moved to leave the table which, of course, was his cue to start speaking.

"Who'd have thought Blue was a closet romantic." And he had to say something that couldn't be disregarded! Both she and Wilson froze staring at House. What? She had to know but she didn't want to ask. Fortunately, Wilson was intrigued enough to speak first.

"This is going to be good. Come on, House, reveal all. We're both agog." Cuddy frowned, she hadn't really wanted to appear that keen, although she was. House smirked and leaned forward, conspiratorially, as if to share some great secret.

"It's a piano duet… four hands. The second movement is called the Romanza - a simple ballad with stormy interludes. It's described as being tender, passionate – a depiction of a torrid love affair. Just goes to show you shouldn't stereotype." House leaned back looking… what was that look? Mischievous? Playful? Curiously expectant?

"He probably just had it tuned to a station as background noise and wasn't really paying attention to it," she said, offhandedly.

"Yeah, that must be it." House smirked. Wilson was still an avid spectator. Cuddy deciding that retreat was the best defence at the moment, moved to leave the table again. Naturally, House had another intriguing line to drop into the conversation which made her pause.

"I suppose as it's for four hands you might associate it more with Taub, although he's more a 'can't keep his hands to himself' man or perhaps he's so quick and stealthy it seems he's got eight hands. What do you reckon, Cuddy?"

"You think quantity is better than quality? I've known men who seem to be related to an octopus… not always a bad thing. But Taub… stealthy?"

"Are you saying size is better than frequency?" House asked, eyes full of mischief.

"I can't have both?" She couldn't resist the playfulness in House's face. "In my experience its worth 80%."

"Sounds like you need more experience," he shot back and then moved back to the original subject under discussion. "I suppose Taub's more sneaky than stealthy, so we'll stick with four hands. Hmm… Schubert's Fantasie in F minor for him. Now Wilson here… how to musically represent him? Trice married, cheating husband… all that pent up resentment, black-hole for neediness, just wants to be lurved… that seems to normalise to… 'Dancing Queen' by Abba."

"Well, I think you're Scandalous by Prince" said Wilson.

"Do you even know the lyrics? I'm Beethoven's fifth… starts with a climax, ends with a climax, all complex build-ups and climaxes in-between. Cuddy here, she's 'Black Angels for Electric String Quartet' - tightly wound up, grating, screechy strings…" He huffed at their blank faces. "From the Exorcist," he said, stressing each word as if they were stupid. "Or perhaps 'Flight of the Bumblebee' - all that frantic buzzing around the hospital, spreading pheromones around the workers keeping them happy and focused and drone-like. Did you know that people used to think the queen was a King ruling the 'people' when in reality the queen is effectively a breeding slave?"

Cuddy snorted and finally walked away from the table.

"Did you have to do that?" asked Wilson.

"What? Flight of the Bumblebee's a technically excellent piece brings out the virtuoso even though it was originally written to be shared around the orchestra with various instruments doing bits in tandem."

"You couldn't have picked something more… more…"

"What? Romantic? The Gorgon wouldn't know what to do with it if I did. It might even scar her for life." And he upped and left.


	42. Reprise, Remise, Riposte

. Sorry, short update. I going away for the weekend tomorrow - thought this was better than nothing!

.*.*.*.*.

Schubert's Fantasie in F minor had turned out to be the other Taub tune in her list. A search of the internet had revealed the lyrics 'You nearly got me' belonged to a Van Halen song of the same name with the addition of the guitar instrumental 'Eruption' at the start of it. The other song from Chase appeared to be 'Nothing Else Matters' by Metallica – a ballad no less. That just left her trying to identify the violin piece from Thirteen and the classical piece from Cameron. Cuddy stared at the list trying to make sense of it. Was it supposed to make sense? Were half of them red herrings and she was supposed to piece a story together from what was left? Damn the man! She really had better things to do with her time.

Lisa Cuddy walked purposefully along the fourth floor corridor, heels clacking as she went. She swept into House's office, opening her mouth to speak but snapped it shut as she saw someone else was in the office.

"Talk of the devil," said House, looking at Cuddy. "Have we got a story for you! Want to come sit on my lap while I tell you all about it?" House patted his knee and waggled his eyebrows suggestively. She gave him the when hell freezes over look. She opened her mouth to speak when House interrupted.

"I was just on my way, when I was asked for a consult."

"What on?" I wasn't aware that Dr Bone had any patients who would require your expertise." She looked enquiringly at Dr. Bone who felt like the butterfly pinned to the board for inspection.

"True, his patient is diagnosed. It was a consult on… let's say hospital politics…"

"And he asked you…?" Cuddy looked with disbelief between the two of them.

"Yes. I was just explaining that you were the more clued up in these things but, apparently, I'm more approachable – surprised me to." Dr Bone, looked like he was hoping the ground would open up and drop him four floors down - hopefully plummeting him to his death.

"That's not…" started Dr. Bone.

"What's the problem?" interjected Cuddy.

"Patient needs transferring to Cardiology," replied House, "but his boss," he nodded in Dr. Bone's direction, "doesn't want to acknowledge he's wrong and is continuing to perform tests… perfectly needless, pointless tests which are just delaying the patient's treatment."

She looked at Dr Bone, he nodded warily. She held out her hand for the patient file he was holding. He handed it over with a glance at House. If he was expecting morale support he was out of luck. He looked terrified. She glanced over the notes.

"I'll sort this out as soon as I've dealt with Dr. House." She nodded dismissively. Dr. Bone shuffled indecisively.

"Erm…" he glanced at House again.

"Can't do that Cuddy." This time House came to his rescue.

"What deal with you?"

"Give Bonio back his file."

"But I said…"

"If you just go marching up there young Bonio here is going to be fingered for betrayal." He paused slightly, letting that sink in. "He'll leave it precariously on the edge of his desk so anybody with a big ass will knock it off, pick it up, casually glance at it before putting it back as any obsessive administrator type would do and then you can humiliate Hacker's bosom buddy." She looked at him gauging his sincerity and concluded he was right. She handed the file to Bone.

"I'll be up in five minutes."

"This going to be a quickie, Cuddy? Offer to sit on my lap still stands… hmmm, I suppose stands is the wrong word more perch and gyrate."

Bone took the file and scarpered before the conversation got complicated. House watched him go.

"That boy could have potential but he's just too wimpy."

"So, you were just on your way…?" Cuddy started. House looked puzzled.

"What?"

"Clinic," said Cuddy. House looked confused.

"Is this some sort of word association game? Okay, I'm in… Boring."

"Pay cheque."

"Tenure."

"Signature."

"Dominatrix."

"Whip."

"Cane."

"Able – get down there now!"

"But I wanna come watch while you tell Proudie the error of his ways," he said, with his best hound dog expression.

"No," she said, sternly.

"Come on, I've put a great comeuppance opportunity your way." He opened his eyes wide in a pleading gesture.

"I'm not going to tell him off publicly."

"Yes, but you're going to instruct Bone, after interrogation, to transfer the patient while Proudie is looking and I want to see his face. Being told about it later is no where near the same amount of fun."

"No." She said firmly. House looked hard done by.

"I do what you ask - give you material to get at Hacker and I don't get a reward? – a small 'cost the hospital nothing' reward? Well, that's the last time I put myself out for you!"

"You didn't go to any effort. This was just serendipitous on your part."

"I could have ignored it." She was thinking about it, he could tell. "I'll go straight to clinic…" he wheedled. She was unmoved.

"And do my full hour," he continued to wheedle. She raised an eyebrow.

"Honest, truly, deeply, sincerely, pleadingly…Pleassse, Mom?" He saw her weaken.

"Yeah. Let's go." He sprang out of his chair. "I'm right behind you. I won't interfere. Just a casual observer." She sighed in acquiescence and moved towards the door.

"Don't make me regret this, House or I'll make your life hell." Cuddy said, a few minutes later as the elevator stopped on Proudie's floor.

"That'll be different from normal, how?" He returned as he moved to exit the elevator. She moved in front of him forcing him to stop. He looked at her warily.

"Wait here for a minute," she said. He nodded.

"Oh, and House…" she turned her head to speak to him as she walked away, "I'll collect what you owe me on Saturday."

"Saturday?" She nodded.

"Okay," he gulped. She smirked wickedly and stepped out of the elevator walking briskly towards Proudie's department.

"You bring dessert. You owe me a mousse," he called after her.

So, she was not going to let it slide… interesting. She was going to collect. Was that good or bad? That meant… that meant… that's what she came into his office for. She had not been chasing him about clinic – sneaky minx. Twice. Twice the damn woman had caught him out over clinic duty. That's what came of trying to be nice. He wasn't sure he was getting enough pay off for all this niceness. Saturday… what the hell did he do now?

"Oh, sorry, Dr Bone. I'll get it." Penetrated his consciousness, making him startle and scurry down the corridor before he missed the good bit and the thing that sweetened the clinic chore.

.*.*.*.*.*.*

'Black Angels for Electric String Quartet' by George Crumb

'Flight of the Bumblebee' by Rimsky-Korsakov

'Arrival of the Queen of Sheba' by Handel

'One more night' by Phil Collins.

'Ride of the _Valkyries' by Wagner__._

'Hit me with your rhythm stick' by Ian Drury and the Blockheads

'Will you' by Hazel O'Conner.

'Owner of a lonely heart' by Yes

'Don't touch me there' by The Tubes.

'Nights in white satin' by The Moody Blues


	43. Catering needs

Sorry about the delay in posting. I had to have my oldest dog put to sleep, that's the third one in under six months, and I rather lost momentum. However, I'm getting back into my stride again so here is the next exciting installment :-). Also apologies to all those who have left reviews to which I have not yet replied. I do appreciate your feedback and I'll be getting around to those shortly, too.

.

Cooking is like love. It should be entered into with abandon or not at all - Harriet Van Horne

.*.*.*.*.*.*.

.

He opened the door in his coat. Cuddy's face fell - she almost looked annoyed.

"I'm not flashing myself to the neighbours," he groused. "So come in and let me shut the door." She looked down at his feet, smirked and walked in… with Rachel and an enormous bag of baby paraphernalia. He raised an eyebrow. She shrugged.

"Baby sitter let me down." He shrugged and walked back towards the kitchen. She followed, vaguely registering music playing with the volume turned down low.

"Hope you brought whatever she's eating because I didn't cook anything for the toothless amongst us… unless she's like her mother and is fine with the House white…", he said, brandishing a bottle of white wine. She scowled. He brought a bottle of milk from behind his back and waved that instead. She unscowled.

"I brought everything she needs."

"It looks like you've brought everything she needs for the week. You are taking her home, aren't you?" he said, looking slightly anxious. As that could only be classed as a facetious comment, she ignored that to pointedly stare at him. He wasn't taking the hint.

"Haven't you forgotten something?" she asked. He screwed his face up as if in deep concentration, then looked around the kitchen.

"No," he said, as if slightly puzzled. He had another glance round the kitchen before looking back at her. "No, I've got everything I need."

"You don't need the coat," she pointed as she spoke.

"Ahh." He undid the belt and reached for the lapels but the hesitated. "Kind of anxious to see my hot bod?"

"Kind of anxious to see you pay up." He sighed, rapidly removed the coat and flung it into a corner, revealing… a large blue and white striped apron.

"Chicken," she said, scornfully.

"Fishcakes," he returned.

"That's not a French maid's apron. You've reneged."

"Have not!" He rapidly flipped the bottom of the apron to flash a smaller white apron underneath. "I am not cooking in just this little thing, you'll have to wait for the big reveal."

"You should have done salad."

"I'm not a rabbit — wait what am I saying? I could…"

"Don't follow that thought through." There was a pause as they both looked at each other. She decided to redirect his attention before his self-control gave way.

"I think your balls are burning." He turned quickly and prodded at things in the pan.

"Fishcakes not balls. I remembered…" She gazed at his back view, from waist down, from waist up, from the neck down, from his heels up… more slowly this time, lingered over his back,. In the background she heard the words red meat, salmon, coriander, lemon. Her gaze returned to the area below his hips. Surprisingly good muscle definition for someone who apparently never did any exercise. Green beans, wine… Cuddy wine. Huh?

"What?" She snapped back into the conversation. He was smirking.

"Do you want a glass of wine?" He nodded at the bottle on the table. "Help yourself."

"Shall I pour you one?"

"Yes." She poured two glasses and put one down next to him, then turned to look round the kitchen - evidence of vegetables, that was a surprise, signs of fruit, a bigger surprise.

"Could you pour me another," he held the glass out to her. She must have looked shocked. He pointed at the pan. She breathed a sigh of relief and took the glass to refill it.

"What are we eating?"

"Weren't you listening to me?" Had he been talking? Oops.

"I… I must have zoned out. Busy day. Sorry." House looked sceptical but let it pass.

"Burnt meatballs." He paused just giving her chance to open her mouth. "The bet was for dinner, you didn't specify what." She started to interrupt again.

"But," he jumped in, "I did remember you don't eat red meat so, salmon fishcakes. Fried as it's me cooking and I need my triglyceride count topped up - lots of hot fat, hence the apron of useful size."

"It certainly hides a multitude of sins. But the bare feet are a nice touch. I half expected you to wear some socks… just for devilment."

"Socks? No. Wilson tried to convince me that I should paint my toe nails but he didn't have my colour." That was interesting. That he would tell Wilson there was a bet was a given, but that he would admit to having to wear the apron… hmmm, perhaps he didn't and this was a misdirection so that she wouldn't mention it.

"You told Wilson you'd be cooking me dinner bare foot in your kitchen?" House looked over his shoulder at her, his face cagy.

"Not exactly."

"You told Wilson you'd be wearing an itsy bitsy, teenie weenie apron to cook me dinner." House looked resigned.

"Not exactly." He looked at her ruefully, after all he should expect no mercy.

"Did you tell Wilson about me in the French maid's outfit?" He looked guilty.

"I said you were hot," he said as if that was some sort of mitigation.

"Did you tell Wilson about me the other weekend?" He actually looked surprised.

"I told him the guy had tried to spike your drink. I… I didn't tell him anything else." He actually looked sincere. Now it was her turn to be surprised.

"Then I guess we're even." House looked relieved and nodded his head in acceptance. He prodded at the fish cakes some more then glanced at the clock.

"Don't you need to check on your accessory?" he nodded towards the living room. He wasn't going to get rid of her that easily.

"Rachel," she stressed the word, "is fine." He sighed and bent down to check something in the oven. She wouldn't have been able to see what it was even had her attention been directed at it, as it was she was licking wine off her hand as House turned around.

"Slipped in my hand," she said, by way of explanation but avoiding eye contact. Don't blush, don't blush she told herself. Was it hot in here, it must be because he'd opened the oven door. This was a really bad idea. She shouldn't be here. Perhaps she should just check on Rachel… except the bastard was smirking. She couldn't let him win this round.

"I was dazzled by the light reflecting off your lily white ass," then rapidly tried to switch the conversation before it got out of hand. "I didn't know you cooked."

"Just because I don't, doesn't mean I can't… that applies to a lot of things."

"Yeah, like clinic," she snarked back.

"At least I don't have a humongous ass." Typical of House to not let it go and it was so tempting to follow through, so tempting… but she must resist. Fortunately, the music changed.

"What is this music?" He smirked.

"Why? You hear Blue playing it?" he said, adopting an innocent expression.

"No, Cameron." He couldn't really call her on that.

"Typical." House was bending down again to get something out of the oven.

"Why?" The food really did smell good, it was making her stomach growl – that was definitely her stomach, not her, that was growling.

"Compassionate, emotional, compulsive need to heal, and it covers her 'must fix the broken man' syndrome. Her romantic little heart is just bound to adore this - even though it's intended to be the one night stand from hell." Cuddy was none the wiser.

"Explain." House got plates out of the oven and transferred the fishcakes to them.

"It's Rimsky-Korsakov's Scheherazade, otherwise known as a thousand and one nights subtitled the wicked wiles of women."

"It is not!" He arranged the vegetables around the fishcakes.

"Sure it is. Persian king finds out that his first wife was betraying him, has her killed and henceforth marries a new virgin every day, and sends yesterday's wife to be beheaded. He's clocked up a total of three thousand virgins when smart ass vizier's daughter volunteers to step up to the plate. Once in the King's chambers, she asks to say good-bye to her sister, who's been primed to ask for a story. The King listens in, Scheherazade manages to draw out the story so it lasts all night then as dawn break she stops but somehow she's still in the middle of the story. So, the King spares her life for one more day so the story can be finished the next night. Of course, the next night she finishes the story, but then starts another and so on and so on until at the end of a thousand stories or one thousand and one nights and three kids later she runs out of stories. Naturally, by this time, the King's fallen in love with her and been miraculously transformed into a wiser and kinder man by Scheherazade and her tales. He spares her life, and makes her his Queen. Big Aw. "

"It's just a nice story."

"It's unrealistic – where the hell did he find three thousand virgins?" House said, as he applied garnish to his creation.

"True. Not around here that's for sure."

"Dinner's ready. You want to go sit down. I'll bring it through."

"I'll give you a hand." She waited expectantly. He sighed. He removed the big apron and flung it over the back of a chair. He stood there hands on hips, glaring at her defiantly. She smirked.

"That's not the right apron." She said looking at an, admittedly, white apron, that had been cut down to waist size with the words 'catering pack' written in large blue letters on it.

"It didn't fit. The apron strings didn't fit round my waist. This was the best I could do. I was trying to go with the spirit of the deal, Cuddy."

"It's fine. Give us a twirl." He gave her an exasperated look but he supposed it was only fair, so twirl he did.

"It looks good on you. A job you do in you spare time?" She echoed his words, he gave her a faux ha, ha handed her a plate, picked up one for himself and walked into the living room.

"I'll save the French tart comments for dessert." She said to his retreating back, awarding herself extra points. She watched him go, staring unashamedly. Then sighed. Such a waste. She really shouldn't be looking. Then again it probably wasn't any different from window shopping at all those shops that didn't put prices on their goods. If you had to ask, you couldn't afford. And certainly the cost of maintenance on House was more than she was prepared to pay. She followed him into the living room.


	44. Stirring the pot

A perfection of means, and confusion of aims, seems to be our main problem **- **Albert Einstein

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

.

He sat on the couch and started eating – gobbling would be a better word. She watched him eat – food goes in, teeth chomp, lips churn, tongue swirls, saliva flows, mastication occurs, enzymes triggered, taste buds fired, pleasure hormones released. He swallowed. His Adam's apple bob up and down…

Food, yes food, food passed the pharynx, down the oesophagus through the chest… sprinkling of greying hair but none the worse for that, just calling for someone to run their fingers through it… moving on, pectorals not badly defined, linger on the pecs…

Food Lisa, stay on track… where next? Concentrate! Through the lower oesophagus sphincter at the diaphragm in to the stomach. Much churning of the food - hormones triggering pleasure and satiation, all happening under those muscles - serratus anterior…

Food, from the stomach through the pylorus into the duodenum, partially under the transverse colon, hidden below the rectus abdominus… and to the side the external abdominal obliques… not bad muscle definition, not bad at all… where was she? Abs, and downwards… only to be foiled by the apron… and the plate! Moving along - knees, calves, ankles, feet… long, shapely feet. Still she'd got a good look at those in the kitchen, so back to those abs - just calling for someone to scrape their fingernails across those muscles, snake them back up to the pectorals and just look at those biceps...

"What?" said House, having noticed her staring and startling her out of her reverie.

"Tasty?" she responded without thinking. His eyes narrowed. Ooops.

"Have you even tried it yet? The cutlery is here," he pointed. "Come on, Gorgon, there's still room on the couch for your ass."

"I thought you liked to savour your food?" She grabbed the cutlery and sat down. He looked down at his plate.

"Iiii…"

"You in a rush to finish?" she asked.

"I can't wait to get to dessert." There was a pause. "You did bring the dessert?" he asked anxiously. She nodded and he seemed to relax a bit. Was this a nervous House?

"So nothing to do with the quicker you eat the quicker you could put some clothes on? If you're uncomfortable…" she teased.

"Uncomfortable? Why should I be uncomfortable? Not like I don't usually wander round my apartment semi-naked or even naked." Great, another mental image she could do without. Change the subject, she thought.

"Is this your usual way of eating?"

"Yes. If you were expecting a fine dining experience you're out of luck. Should have specified that's what you wanted in your bet. Wilson doesn't complain. Are you going to eat that or talk all night? It tastes better warm." He managed to add a leer to that, then followed up with. "I'm not poisoning you."

"Never thought you were. I, too, have built up immunity." She tasted.

Her face underwent a transformation. This wasn't a hit the mouth fighting explosion of flavours but a subtle, aromatic experience that just blossomed in the mouth. It was so good she almost uttered an embarrassing exclamation - it could be worse she could have moaned. Light, subtle, aromatic, delicate – all adjectives she didn't associate with House.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"Not what I was expecting," she admitted.

"Better than you were expecting, or better than you hoped?" Well, wasn't that just a tricky question? Loathe as she was to boost House's ego, she supposed he deserved honesty.

"I guess I was expecting take-out while hoping that your culinary skills at least ran to a sandwich that wasn't peanut butter and jelly. So, yes, this is both unexpected and unhoped for."

"Oh ye, of little faith!" To her surprise was all he said, with a slight smile. She decided to go with the flow or more to the point not to waste this opportunity to eat. It would probably never happen again. They ate in silence for a few minutes. She was tempted to leave the conversation to him, but then that hardly seemed fair when she'd left the conversation up to him when the situation had been reversed. Still this was his apartment he could decide whether he wanted conversation or not.

"Are you happy with the music or do you want to watch a movie?" He asked out of the blue. Her unhelpful internal monologue kicked in - I want to watch something but it isn't a movie.

"Hazarding a guess at your movie choices, let's stick with the music," she replied.

"What's wrong with monster…"

"Whether you follow that with trucks or a body part my response will be the same and will involve you wearing dessert – again," she butted in.

"I was going to say 'monsters and aliens'!" Likely story, she thought. However, she had no intention of staying long enough to watch a movie.

"The music's fine," she replied, simply.

"Does that mean you want to 'talk'?" he asked, somewhat facetiously.

"Well… I have a question…" she started. He looked suddenly worried. "Catering pack?" House looked rather relieved.

"You'd rather it said French Stick?"

"Your ego just can't rest can it?" she said, almost absent-mindedly as she savoured another mouthful of fishcake.

"I play to my strengths." She wondered what other talents he was hiding and how he practiced them… all the times she'd found him practising in his office flashed through her mind - some new trick with a ball, a guitar song. He didn't like just being good at something, and sometimes to achieve excellence, even he, had to practice… unlike clinic duty at which he should excel but he made a point of avoiding because it bored him unlike his balls, guitar and presumably his piano…

"Talking of which I think you're rubbing off on your fellows," she casually dropped into the conversation.

"Really – have they been stealing your underwear again? Breaking into your secret files?"

"They seem to have discovered a passion for music, all at the same time and with this need to share – which obviously isn't you."

"Just because I don't share doesn't mean I don't know how to," he said, as if insulted. It made her smile.

"Really, apart from bodily fluids, what are you prepared to share?"

"I didn't say that I was prepared to, only that I knew how to and if you're going to put constraints on what I can share…" he stopped mid thought. "… are you prepared to share your handcuffs?"

"I don't own any handcuffs."

"What! What sort of dominatrix are you?" She wasn't quite sure that his outrage was feigned.

"One without handcuffs. I prefer to use the tools of my trade," she replied, evenly.

"What bureaucratic tape?" he snarked.

"Better yet, really sticky plaster that rips the hairs off after use," she smiled, sweetly. He winced, visibly.

"I guess I don't want to share that experience. I think you should change your tools otherwise you'll fall into that single, middle-aged mind trap and get stuck in your ways – especially true about obsessive perfectionists – always doing the same thing."

"Well, that's certainly true of you. Your instinct for avoiding the question is in full flow," she returned.

"What question?"

"QED," she said, dryly. Surprisingly, that seemed to make him pause for thought.

"What would you like me to share?" he asked, finally, a guarded look on his face.


	45. Still stirring

Posting this part early by special request, because I'm feeling generous, because it's premiere day.

.

.*.*.*.*.*.*

.

She momentarily paused in her eating. She had this strange, nagging doubt at the back of her mind that this was not a safe topic but as he'd poked her curiosity and she'd got this far…

"Your music knowledge to give me an insight as to what the music is and why it's being sent."

"You don't know?" His face reflected mild curiosity, if she didn't know him better she might think he knew nothing about the emails. But she knew him better.

"No." She went with the simple answer.

"None of them?"

"I recognise some but not all and as to the why I've no idea at all. There doesn't seem to be a rhyme or reason."

"Perhaps there isn't one. Perhaps it's just stuff they like and felt like sharing," he said, nonchalantly, leaning forward to put his empty plate on the coffee table which, coincidentally, meant his face was averted from her.

"Then why not tell me what the tracks are?" she argued.

"To keep an air of mystery? Life would be so boring if it were straight forward, where would be the fun in that? You'd probably just have shrugged it off as an idle curiosity, but now, your little grey cells are getting a work out, for a change."

"But if there's no solution that's just frustrating. I don't have time to figure out puzzles just for the puzzle, so, if it happened again, I'd just ignore it. There's got to be some pay off."

"Perhaps there are more to come, and then it will all make sense," he countered.

"Perhaps. But if I don't know what they are it's rather a moot point, hence I am using the tried and tested problem solving technique of phoning a friend… or in this case, asking the arrogant ass who knows."

"Who knows?" he queried, cocking his head to the side slightly. Naturally, he was still playing the game.

"Slip of the tongue, I meant who's knowledgeable," she snapped back.

"Whitesnake."

"What?"

"Whitesnake." He paused checking her bemused face. "Slip of the tongue… it's by Whitesnake."

"Oh. Not one of the ones I was looking for, but good to know."

"Did you bring the ones you want to know with you?"

"No." He gave her an astonished look. Yes, yes, yes, he was still playing the game - fine. "You like puzzles… somehow, I just thought you'd know. These are your fellows after all – you are that good." Shameless, blatant appeal to his ego, which he'd spot a mile off, but if it moved them passed House's stalling tactics… She saw his eyes smile in appreciation – success.

"Okay," he said. "Let's start with what you've got so far?"

She felt a little of the tension leave her shoulders - still playing the game but moving forward. She was about to launch into a rapid list, her mouth had opened with the first word but then she froze. There was something about House that was… off. It had been niggling at the back of her mind… He seemed… tense. He'd been giving off this nervous vibe since she got there. She'd assumed it was because he was nearly naked, and he was bluffing when he said it wasn't, but, thinking about it, he'd probably cast the apron aside without a moment's hesitation to prove that point. No, it wasn't the physical nakedness he was awkward about which left potential mental nakedness causing his anxiety.

She'd got so caught up in the finding out 'what' that she'd almost forgotten the 'why'. The game had to be there for a reason – apart from the fact he was hiding behind it. She ran through her options again. Toying with her, sharing with her, attention seeking? All three? This was House, it was all three. But was it playful House or manipulative House? Was it playful House with good, fun intentions or playful House with evil, mocking intentions? House playing games could hide many intentions - Not only that he could switch intentions if the first one didn't pan out. He could hide a good intention by making it look bad… there were dozens of examples of that… their altruistic/ selfish conversation came to mind last time she was in his apartment… last time she was in his apartment… ahh.

He was still playing games but, was he trying to learn? She couldn't say change because this was House but learning, she'd give him that as a life long passion. He didn't always apply what he learnt and sometimes he applied what he'd learnt in a very twisted, unconventional House way… but not necessarily selfishly. Following that logic, the game was there for both of them to hide behind.

This was perhaps deeper than she had anticipated. Having made up her own mind, that she and House were going nowhere, she kept dismissing things House did as his usual mess with Cuddy behaviour. And they were weren't they? True, he was helping her undermine Hacker but that matched his help with the IVF - when his interest was aroused, especially his self interest, he could be helpful. He'd been concerned about Dolus and the roofie but that was equivalent to his concern when they were airborne coming from Singapore… Now she thought about it House might have been slightly less demanding recently. Actually, she'd not paid much attention to the fact he was not demanding attention, it was only in retrospect that it became obvious. This music sharing thing, it was different - attention seeking but differently.

Did that explain his nervousness? Out of his comfort zone? Thinking about it, he'd been different since that 'weekend'. She'd obviously done or said something to trigger his present actions. Did she really want to go there? Go somewhere that House wasn't approaching dead on, somewhere that House was not humiliating her with, was not mocking her about, was not blackmailing her with… yet. This was going to be complicated, this was probably tied in with all sorts of things she didn't have time to think about now. This was probably tied in with things she thought were finished but which kept resurfacing.

She'd been thinking for some time but House just sat there watching her – still with her mouth open. She closed her mouth and leaned forward to put her plate on the table. Under normal circumstances he'd be sarcastically scornful about her for 'zoning out' like this … but he wasn't. He probably knew she'd just seen the 'great gaping chasm' in between the two points she'd been trying to get to and from. Two apparently innocent points between which was a swamp… with alligators… and mines.

House had arranged it to appear as a conversation about the musical choices of his fellows. They were both protected here. Protected from what though? He'd been giving her clues to the music… presumably the ones he'd thought she wouldn't get or the ones he wanted to make a point about. So he obviously wanted her to get 'it' what ever it was. Fantasie in F, Scheherazade, Romanza – if she took those it might almost be House the romantic. Romantic? House! She was about to dismiss that thought but… well, House would certainly want to keep that side of himself hidden. It would certainly explain his nervousness. She looked at him sitting practically naked in front of her. He was definitely tense. Did she really want him to go there? Did she really, really want to go there? Having bulldozed her way to this point, now she was second guessing herself?

Once again she felt herself drawn into House's game. She was fascinated by what House was trying to say… do… tell her… whatever. Romantic? It was so far fetched. Feelings… emotions would be involved. The sort of thing House normally kept under a shroud of double meanings - on the surface a game about his fellows' musical choices, underneath a great broiling mass of piranhas – dangerous feelings with teeth. Was House really going to have a conversation about feelings, albeit carefully hidden? If he was it would be almost irresistible… for the sheer novelty value alone. But it was a slippery slope.

Did she step back from the edge or go forward? If she was right did she have any intention of reciprocating? No, but in those complicated things to think about later was the fact that she might already have shared some inappropriate information with House while she was uninhibited. But if she had he'd either be crowing about it or saving it for an appropriate blackmailing moment, wouldn't he? The other alternative, that House was trying to tell her something to even the score, was just laughable. House even the score, for what…? Some really altruistic reason - no cajoling or incentive… Incentive, what was his incentive? She couldn't walk out; she had to know what House knew. In order to know she had to play the game… even if it was terrifying. So, not a rapid fire list… she had to give him chance to elaborate on each one. Of course, if he didn't elaborate on one that didn't mean it wasn't significant…


	46. Counter stirring

"Kutner sent 'Hit me with your rhythm stick'…" She stepped cautiously onto the slippery slope. She saw his eyes smile in appreciation and he seemed to relax back into the couch.

"Excellent choice."

"And 'Will you'..."

"Great sax solo… not completely him though is it? Somehow, I associate Kutner more with 'Fire', it sought of reflects his starting fires and nearly electrocuting himself when he defibrillated a soaking wet patient. Even 'Charmed life' would be better. Do you think he's a bit of a masochist?"

"No. 'Fire'?"

"A one hit wonder from the 60s by the Crazy World of Arthur Brown. Then again he's got a high tolerance for humiliation so perhaps the 'Humiliation Song' is more appropriate."

"I don't know it."

"By Freak Kitchen," he said, as if shedding light on the matter.

"Freak Kitchen?"

"They're not that obscure, Cuddy. For someone who supposedly likes music, there are great gaps in your knowledge. Perhaps we should take in a few concerts and expand your horizons a bit?"

"I think I can give Freak Kitchen a miss.

"You're just prejudiced against the name! That's no way to make music choices. They've got some great song titles… 'God save the spleen', 'Chest pain Waltz', 'Jerk', 'Porno Daddy', 'Six dildo Bob and the Bluegrass samba from hell' - they play the guitar with metal dildos for that one." She wondered if he was making this up.

"You're not selling this well," she said.

"Okay, maybe not Freak Kitchen. Perhaps a proms in the Park with a picnic and the papoose is more your style... Back to Kutner… there's his parents' untimely death… so perhaps 'If I could turn back time' or 'The Time machine' so he can go back and make it all better."

"You're an ass."

"I don't think I know it. Who sings that?" He got a look. "So moving on…Chase. Let me guess… he's got to go for the surfer dude type thing… something from the Beach Boys maybe like 'Good Vibrations'… hmm, actually that's more you… no, that'd be 'Good Vibrators' wouldn't it?" He got another look – the one that threatened sharp instruments and parts of his anatomy. "So, Chase, perhaps the music that goes with the old Old Spice advert with the surfer guy - 'O Fortuna'. Still, he's with Cameron now – maybe 'Sexy Boy'…? Something a little more romantic perhaps…How about 'Everlasting Love'… or 'Puppy Love', especially the Donny Osmond version?" She didn't know whether to smile or grimace. She shook her head.

"None of those."

"Damn! Going to give me a clue?" he asked. She didn't understand why he just wouldn't tell her but she supposed she'd have to play the game.

"Where's the fun in that? You wouldn't want me to make this easy for you, would you?"

"Touché! Do you know what they are?"

"Yes, I do now. I found the words to one online…" He gave her a quizzical look. She gave in to that one. "'You nearly got me'."

"Actually, I'd have said that Cameron had got him hook, line and sinker but it's a great track. After that I suppose nothing else matters, Cameron, on the other hand, should be 'Broken Wings'."

"Isn't that you?" she quipped.

"I don't think there is one called 'missing leg muscle'"

"How about ones about 'self pity' especially if we are going by analogy! 'Paint it Black' by your favourite philosopher or there must be one called 'Cryin' in my beer'?"

"Screeching Weasels," he replied, completely unfazed. "Talking of which, Taub? Let's think…'Laughing Gnome'. No, no, I suppose that's not how he sees himself. Fancies himself more as a ladies' man… surrounded by women… or a harem… perhaps 'Crazy about girls' or 'Smooth Operator 'or 'Principles of lust' or maybe 'Please forgive me' for his wife." She tried not to smile.

"No, but you were right with the Schubert."

"Actually, I prefer him with the Valkyries. Can't you just see him between a couple of ample sopranos dressed in white armour with the cone shaped, spiked breast plates. That'd put a spoke in his groping tendencies. His head would be at breast height, wouldn't it? Bound to cramp his style. Then again you striding down the halls of PPTH armed with a syringe, a bedpan, pinky and perky on display squeezed into a plate-mail corselet, would feed straight into that dominatrix aura you project. I can understand why he might find that fascinating… as well as a teesy weensy bit intimidating." She rolled her eyes.

"What is it with you and the dominatrix theme? You'd never let someone have control over you like that," she said, in a really offhand manner, not expecting much of a reply other than sarcasm. So the next thing he said was a bit of a shock.

"I can give up control. I just don't like people taking it. It's a question of balance," he said, completely seriously.

"Right you as a sub! I can picture it now." She held her hand to her head as if thinking hard. "You can't give up that much control."

"True – but I'm not talking about the exploration of emotions brought about by power exchange that can occur in a safe, sane and consensual manner which need not involve any brutality, such as corporal punishment, or cruelty like verbal or emotional abuse, at all. But to trust someone to tie me up and bring pleasure with maybe a few scratch marks and… I could do that. Not like you – you want someone to overpower you."

"I do not!" She denied, vigorously.

"I'm not talking about a rape fantasy, more overpowering in a good way - in a sweep you off your feet and make mad passionate love to you despite your protests of' I've got paperwork' or 'I've got a meeting in 20 minutes' way. And don't tell me you haven't got a secret desire to be blindfolded, tied to a bed and have your body caressed, stroked, teased, licked, kissed, sucked just to bring you to the heights of pleasure again and again and again – and there's nothing you can do about it except enjoy it. Not knowing whether the next touch will be a feather tickling your feet or a fur glove caressing to your belly or an ice cube swirling round your nipple followed by a hot, sucking mouth, lips brushing your ear, fingers tracing the mountains and valleys of your body, mapping your erogenous zones, sensitive areas, ticklish bits because they'll be coming back to play with them later. Maybe your lover lets you come or maybe he keeps you on edge, that tantalising, nerve wracking, hair raising, blood surging, heart racing edge only to let you come down a bit, then take you back up, until finally – earth shattering, nerve jangling eruption… and just as you think you can't possibly co-ordinate another muscle, it starts all over again and again and again."

Her jaw had hit the floor somewhere around blindfolded. The hair had risen on the back of her neck. She had goosebumps and not the caused by cold variety. Her heart was racing, the blood was rushing through her ears, her mouth dry. That House could do… think like that… he looked so genuine when he was speaking. Not that she'd ever trust House like that… he might do the pleasuring thing but then he was just as likely to leave her tied to the bed and go off to watch the TV, as a little jape – or being a typical male just fall asleep. She was vaguely conscious of the fact her mouth was still open, that there was a far away look in her eye - it was too much to consider, too much every thing. That House even… she needed to analyse, dissect, review, just absorb the implications of what House had just said but her mind was still locked at the tantalising edge. Fortunately, House broke the miasma.


	47. The Perils of Window Shopping

"Eruption's a great guitar solo, a bit short when you consider how long a volcano can keep discharging for – days, weeks… years, but as a sexual metaphor it's probably right – well, wishful thinking really. It goes on for minutes when actual ejaculation only takes seconds. Although a women's orgasm can go on for days. Did you know the word orgasm comes from the Greek orgainein meaning to swell, as to swell with lust? There was a woman having 200+ orgasms a day. She was getting good, good, good vibrations… from almost anything. She was 'suffering' from PSAS. Did you read about her?"

"That passed me by." She found her voice but, even to her, it sounded a bit ragged.

"There's another song called 'Eruption' by Focus that's 18 minutes long."

"Which do you prefer?"

"They've both got merit but I guess it depends on my mood, the location… and how much time I've got."

A perfectly reasonable, logical answer – but the implications... Why did she think that House would be a two minute kind of guy? Because he had a short attention span for things that bored him… but to balance that he could be relentless once his interest was engaged… ohh. Yet again had her attention wandered and House was bringing her back to the present.

"Now Foreman...? Until recently I'd have gone with 'Boring' or 'I Robot' but your eyes and ears has been touching recently. Now he's a 'Sex machine', which is obviously still robotic but 'Goodness, gracious, great balls of fire' is going a bit too far, don't you think?"

"Absolutely," she nodded her head for emphasis. "Foreman is touching?"

"Yes, he's formed a Foreteen. Talking of which, Thirteen… hmm, 'Hot Stuff' perhaps… then again … hides personal information, exhibits self-destructive behaviour, uses dangerous recreational drugs - 'Walk on the Wild side'… 'Wild Thing'…" he stared up at the ceiling thinking before continuing with "has repeated one-night stands – 'Hot, Sweet and Sticky', 'Lay lady Lay'… And my personal favourite, she swings both ways - something by AC/DC… 'Hard as a Rock', 'Got you by the balls', 'Let's get it up', 'Let me put my love into you'… Hmmm, shame, none of those really epitomise girl on girl action, and 'Got you by the balls' is more you." His gaze swivelled back her way with… was that a teasing smile? She rolled her eyes at him.

"Alternatively, there's 'AC-DC' by Sweet and I can't believe I just admitted knowing that song," he said. "Herman's Hermits 'This door swings both ways'… Perhaps I'll go with 'Girls just want to have fun'… then again that's another more you… at least when you were younger, whereas 'I'd lie for you' for the old you. I don't think there's a song for working Moms… Can you imagine that as an opera? If it took your situation, as Queen Bee, it would have to get the Queen of Sheba treatment - all your little minions around you."

"Yeah – you're the one tripping up the sedan carriers and it would need something the length of the Ring cycle to do it justice."

"You're over glorifying it… Although I agree, something like a 45 minute soap opera episode wouldn't do it justice, but a several episode arc might do the trick. Have you ever been to the opera?" She shook her head. "Want to go and see if you have a 'Pretty Woman' experience or if you just fall asleep?"

"'Pretty Woman'? That's the one where her knight in shining armour turns up, right? Let's stick with reality."

"You have no soul," he returned. "Reality… like thrice married, still mourning a dead girlfriend Wilson?"

"How did you get 'Dancing Queen'?" she asked, still bemused by that lunchtime snippet.

"He was listening. D.I.V.O.R.C.E. or 'Addicted to Love' would be more him and in company with Taub he's also a cheater, 'Oops, I Did It Again', 'Your Cheating Heart', 'You Give Love A Bad Name'. Slept with a patient, needs to be needed, boy wonder, cooks, cleans, manipulative bitch. I'd say 'Bitches Brew' by Miles Davis but I like the album. Title tracks 26 minutes long..."

"18 minutes and 26 minutes… Length is important, is it?"

"Absolutely. Probably, 40% of your 80%. Wilson uses hopes, dreams and aspirations but an aspiring lothario worth his salt should know the best way to get into a girl's pants is through her ears." He was watching her with that sort of assessing look, trying to gauge her reaction.

"Well, that's what Wilson does, doesn't he? Listens and says the things a girl wants to hear." She was vaguely interested in the tactics of the opposite sex – not that that would help her with House. She couldn't imagine him employing a tactic you could see coming a mile off and could therefore easily avoid… or allow yourself to be drawn in if the guy was attractive enough!

"But music is the ultimate aphrodisiac," said House, warming to his theme. "You can set the mood, appeal to the mind or ego or both - give the girl a glimpse of what kind of man you are. Now Bitches Brew is really good for seduction. It's a double album, the tracks so smooth, the trumpet just taking you away from it all that the glasses of red wine just slip down the throat leaving you in this really mellow, relaxed mood. Or, if you're a bit rushed for time, the track "Miles Runs The Voodoo Down" is only 14 minutes but has fascinating trumpet solos, bass lines that get your heart thumping, and guitar chops to die for… little deaths that is. The song builds up to an awesome climax then falls back into beautiful, random jazz improv. You can still get a lot accomplished in 14 minutes, especially with the right sort of inspiration. Of course, some people just think it's a load of noise. I could play it for if you like, if you've never heard it. Then you could make up your own mind?"

"I'm tempted to say 'some other time' but that would give the wrong impression, especially as improvisation's not really my thing."

"Really, you always want everything planned out – no spontaneity?" He gave her a quizzical look.

"When do I not have spontaneity? I have too much spontaneity. Something planned, expected easy, relaxing, that's what I want," she said. He looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Interesting." He paused. "So, my educated guesses for the entourage are 'I Robot' for Foreman… 'Love the One You're With' for Taub and 'Out of Time' for Thirteen." He paused, staring at the far wall, fingering his glass of wine. "'Very Pretty Girl' for Cameron, 'Every Breath You Take' for Kutner… 'You Can't Always Get What You Want' as my team song, 'One Year of Love' for Chase and 'Unfinished Sympathy' for Wilson. Watcha think?"

"Aren't you going to include me and you in there?" she asked. There was a flash of disappoint in his eyes but he continued easily.

"Me? I'm '60 minute man' or 'One bourbon, one scotch, one beer…. As for you… Bitches' Brew..."

"But you like the album," she finished for him, expecting the snark.

"Yes, I do," he said, sincerely. "But, if jazz isn't your thing something more mainstream is required… please don't tell me you like musicals?" He asked, looking horrified.

"I love musicals." He groaned. "Although I like other stuff better." He looked partially relieved. "As for your 'educated guesses' you didn't get a single one right," she said.

"I didn't ask if they were right," he said, quietly.

Oh. No, he'd asked what did she think? What was she supposed to think? They were songs that House thought typified the person. As usual, they ranged from mockingly accurate through underhandedly funny to misdirecting red herrings. She wondered if it was significant that having asked her what she knew already he had then redirected the conversation. The slippery slope she had stepped onto had not been very steep, it had been a controlled decent… thus far. Did that mean she'd missed something? Undoubtedly.

He'd missed several songs while in control of the conversation, some of which he'd already discussed but she still didn't have an answer to the violin piece. Was it pointless or was it the most important which is why it had been 'avoided' so far? Why was she playing this game again? Because she had nothing better to do? She had hours of paperwork back at home – okay, so it was really boring, mind-numbing paperwork so perhaps this was better – marginally. Okay, okay more than marginally. The food had been wonderful, House was additional eye-candy she really shouldn't be enjoying but what the heck it wasn't going to last long. And, so far, House was behaving himself, as always when he was in the mood he could be entertaining - she wouldn't quite run to charming, there always seemed to be that edgy abrasiveness to him. She was here because House was up to something and whatever he was playing at was best played outside of the hospital. So she might as well go all in and find out what was going on. Meanwhile, what did she think?

"I think you're playing a game I don't know the rules to. Care to enlighten me?"

"You've played the game before… and with me. It's just the pieces are different, we are more practised at some of the moves but rusty in others… very rusty, practically ceased, in need of a good oiling."

"And is there a prize for winning this game or are we just playing for sport?"

"Yes," he said, not elaborating. She rolled her eyes. "We could be playing just for the practice… or, there's a prize which might result in sport… certainly activity, a big prize but that means the stake is higher."

"If the stake is that high we should probably practice first… maybe more than once?" she asked.

"Ready for dessert?" asked House.

That seemed like a non-sequitur but… Chocolate mousse. He'd asked her to bring mousse – something she now thought of as the Groundhog mousse. Were they about to have groundhog minutes instead of days? This was related to practice?

For what possible reason should she consider House, again? She glanced over at him – those feet, those long legs – calves, thighs, all the way up to his ass. His chest, his biceps, his forearms, his hands with those long, mobile fingers. Apart from those reasons which, unfortunately, came accompanied with his personality, hadn't she told herself not to get involved with House - that he just wasn't suitable? Yet he kept persisting, subtly altering his approach as he… what? Learnt something? He was frustratingly intriguing, which, she reminded herself, was why she was here again. What could he possible be telling her this time that he hadn't already told her before that wouldn't justify her walking out of his apartment right now?

If she stuck to her original objective of finding the names of all the songs perhaps when she had the full picture it would become clearer – perhaps that one song was the key to the puzzle that's why it was last and why House was still to mention it.

She glanced over at him again and sighed. The trouble with window shopping was that sometimes you were tempted inside.

"Dessert sounds good," she conceded.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

(PSAS - Permanent Sexual Arousal Syndrome - increased blood flow to the sex organs)

QED - or Q.E.D. if you prefer to be exact is an acronym of the Latin phrase quod erat demonstrandum, which means 'that which was to be demonstrated'. Generally used, over here at any rate, to mean 'that proved it'.

I know not all of you will know all the songs and it would be very time consuming to check all these titles out so if you're in the mood to check anything – look at the lyrics to '60 minute man'!

'Fire' by Crazy World of Arthur Brown

'Charmed Life' by Mick Jagger

'If I could turn back time' by Cher

'Scheherazade' by Rimsky-Korsakov

'Sexy Boy' by Air

'Everlasting Love' by Robert Knight

'Puppy Love' by Paul Anka

'Laughing Gnome' by David Bowie

'Crazy about girls' by Dr. Feelgood,

'Smooth Operator ' by Sade,

'Principles of lust' by Enigma

'Please forgive me' by Bryan Adams

'Boring' by the Pierces

'I Robot' by The Alan Parsons Project

'Sex machine' by James Brown

'Goodness, gracious, great balls of fire' by Jerry Lee Lewis

'Girls just want to have fun' – Cyndi Lauper

'I'd lie for you' by Meatloaf

'Walk on the Wild side' by Lou Reed

'Wild Thing' by The Troggs

'Humiliation Song' by Freak Kitchen

'Out of Time' by the Rolling Stones.

'Hot Stuff' by Donna Summer.

'Hot, Sweet and Sticky' by Def Leppard"

'D.I.V.O.R.C.E.' Tammy Wynette

'Addicted to Love' by Robert Palmer

'Oops! I Did It Again' by Britney Spears

'Your Cheating Heart' by Hank Williams

'You Give Love A Bad Name' by Bon Jovi

'Love the One You're With' by Stephen Stills

'Bitches Brew' by Miles Davis

"Miles runs the Voodoo dawn' by Miles Davis

'Unfinished Sympathy' by Massive Attack

'Very pretty Girl' by Chris Isaak

'Every breath you take' by Police

'One year of love' by Queen

'Broken Wings' by Mr. Mister

'Crying In My Beer' by Screeching Weasels

'Paint it Black' by The Rolling Stones

'Good Vibrations' by The Beach Boys

'O Fortuna' (Carmina Burana) by Orff

'Fantasie in F ' by Schubert

'The Time Machine' by

'Eruption' by Focus

'Eruption'/'You nearly got me' by Van Halen

'Lay, Lady, Lay' by Eric Clapton

'Dancing Queen' by ABBA

'AC-DC' by Sweet

'This door swings both ways' by Herman's Hermits

'You can't always get what you want' by The Rolling Stones

'Hard as a Rock', 'Got you by the balls', 'Let's get it up', 'Let me put my love into you' by AC/DC

'Slip of the Tongue' by Whitesnake

'60 minute man' by Billy Ward and his Dominoes

'One bourbon, one scotch, one beer' by John Lee Hooker


	48. The Night of the Music Interpreter

.

Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent - Victor Hugo

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*.

.

"You get the mousse, I'll go get changed," he said.

"Changed?" She squeaked. "But we haven't finished dinner yet!" There was annoyed disappointment on her face.

"You set the precedent!" he returned.

"You were being an ass! Besides, I kept with the spirit of the bet and cooked in the outfit without hiding under an apron. You did not cook dinner wearing just the apron and do not give me any weasel words about how you had it on underneath. If there is a precedent then you need to stay like that until dessert is finished to make up the time," she replied hotly, hands on hips.

"But you wouldn't have seen much more as my back was turned to you, while I cooked," he wheedled.

"Even more reason that the bet isn't over now," she insisted.

"You just can't keep your eyes off me!" He accused, deflecting.

"You wish," she replied, dryly. "No doubt you're hoping I'll jump you too and make good use of your white satin sheets." Cuddy was fishing. House took the bait, as it moved the conversation away from the apron.

"Erm, are they a pre-requisite? Only, somehow, I've managed to miss those - just plain cotton… cream, although I do have Nights in White Satin on CD. The real one - none of this shortened single or remixed crap, it's got to be the real thing - beautiful song, the full version. Recommended as a song to make love to but it's only six minutes long, so, more of a set the mood piece."

Cuddy swallowed and broke eye contact with him. Nanoseconds stretched into milliseconds stretched into seconds.

"I'll get the mousse," she said, heading for the kitchen. House dithered – **dithered**. To change or not to change, that was the question. He had to admit to himself that he was feeling a little… vulnerable like this, but she did have a point. There was a rummaging and a rustling in the kitchen.

"Do you want a top up on your wine?" She asked, bringing the mousse, spoons and the bottle of wine with her. He sighed and held out his wine glass, his opportunity gone – well, not really, there was nothing stopping him from going to change now… except himself… trying to be fair… or open… or something he had no idea how to be… Perhaps he'd tried once in the dim and distant past, but not in a very long time... not that he had long to ponder.

"So, I've got them all except the violin piece that Dr. Hadley sent," said Cuddy, boldly grasping the nettle. Typical of Cuddy to go straight for the problem she could see, thought House. While he, for once, was trying to approach tangentially so as not to spook her, while gently trying to nudge her out of her well worn thought patterns. He didn't seem to be having much luck but then he knew he was expecting Cuddy to process most of this later. The trouble was, if she thought about it later and realised what he was trying to tell her, she may not act on it. Therefore, House had been hoping, not that he'd actually acknowledge hope – hope being for sissies, that she would begin to realize what he was on about and give him an opening. Otherwise, he might have to approach her all over again – something he might not be given the opportunity to do – let alone have the nerve for.

They were sat at opposite ends of the couch, the chocolate mousse between them, a spoon each - both apparently intent on the food and not each other or what was going on in each other's heads.

"Mmmm, wine and chocolate mousse – a mouth puckering combination!" said House, stalling. Though why he was doing that when he'd deliberately set out to get to this point… well, it wasn't a mystery - he'd hoped for something more positive from Cuddy by now. Oh, well. Here goes nothing.

"Was it just one violin?" he asked. She took a mouthful of mousse, sucking the mousse off the spoon while she thought… then licked the spoon. House watched mesmerized before she jolted him out of his trance when she replied.

"No, there was more than one."

"Sure it was violins?"

"It sounded like violins but I'm no expert. I think there were other instruments." She took another spoonful of mousse and slowly raised it to her lips.

He paused for thought, then continued. "Considering she swings both ways, it's probably two instruments playing different tunes but in harmony with each other… maybe a double violin concerto."

"Does that narrow it down?" She was doing that thing with the spoon again and the apron was not doing much to hide his physical response to it. He knew she'd seen she was having an effect on him because she was smirking. He swallowed.

"There are quite a few of them. Vivaldi's got several. Beethoven, of course, went for a triple concerto. If we stretch the point, Brahms has a double concerto for violin and cello, Bruch violin and viola, Schubert's got a sonata for violin and piano, Philip Glass wrote one for violin and cello… there's a Prokofiev Sonata for two violins … Martinu has a Double Violin Concerto. Then, of course, there's Bach and his well known Double Violin Concerto."

"Well known? I didn't recognise it, so perhaps it isn't that…" she trailed off as House used his finger to remove the mousse he had dropped on his chest… then sucked his finger before continuing with his theme.

"Concerto for 2 Violins, Strings and Continuo in D Minor also known as the Double Violin Concerto – one of Bach's masterpieces. Some think it drop dead gorgeous others that it's mechanical and pedantic. It's full of counterpoints."

"Counterpoints?"

"Dorothy Sayers used it in he book, 'Ga_udy Night'_. Ever read any of her work?"

Cuddy shook her head.

"That era of detective fiction has several musical detectives starting with Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes who's a violinist – 'a composer of no ordinary merit' and the author of a monograph upon the Polyphonic Motets of Lassus. Whenever a case is over, Holmes drags Watson off to a violin recital or opera performance. Wilson's never been one for culture… don't suppose you want to be a body substitute?" he leered.

"Going by that analogy I'm Irene Adler which was more a meeting of minds than bodies. As Holmes considered emotional qualities antagonistic to clear reasoning, I can see why you might empathise with the character. However, Irene Adler did best him in one of his cases, didn't she?"

"The analogy doesn't hold - I have never eschewed female company or desired a monastic lifestyle."

"Really! The man who thinks he's better off alone?" The incredulity in her voice almost sounded sincere. Well, he had said that but that wasn't necessarily what he wanted. He may deserve to be alone but not many people got what they deserved and he was selfish enough and greedy enough to accept what he didn't deserve when it was to his advantage. He needed his solitude occasionally, many people did but that didn't mean he wanted to be alone all the time. He'd told Amber he didn't want to be miserable. He hadn't changed his mind about the existence of a God therefore no divine intervention coming any time soon – so, if he was at least going to be less miserable, he had to do something about it himself.

"Not all the time - hence the occasional cultural pursuit."

"Oh! You mean like monster trucks, women's mud wrestling, lap dancing clubs. I'll pass thanks."

Was she being deliberately obtuse or just pushing him to be more specific? There were no telltale signs in her demeanour. Her whole attitude was closed, guarded – her tower door firmly shut. Still Wilson would consider this as him knocking and asking, right? And she was still talking… even if it was from the battlements.

"Those are things that Wilson likes to do, I just keep him company. I drew the line at the erotic art exhibition." He referred back to Wilson and Cuddy's visit to a gallery a few years ago. She laughed.

"You should have seen his face. He was soooo embarrassed. So, Dorothy Sayers and the counterpoints…?"

"Right… Musical detectives… Funny thing is Agatha Christie in her truck load of detective books has few musical references, yet, she considered becoming either an opera singer or a concert pianist when she was young. She also composed songs including a waltz which was actually published – it had a funny title for a waltz, 'One Hour With Thee'. Anyway, Dorothy Sayers made her detective, Lord Peter Wimsey, a pianist – a musician of 'some skill and more understanding'. Her first novel, 'Whose Body' mentions Wimsey's baby grand…"

He trailed off. She was doing that thing with the spoon again… he grabbed the bowl and put it in his lap.

"Are we getting to the counterpoints any time soon?" She interrupted his thought processes with a smug smile. He cleared his throat.

"Wimsey's been trying to get the girl to marry him for five or six years and with his last effort he sort of compares the relationship he's after to the music… and whether she's interested. It's all about balance… equality. The girl's been given the advice that 'a marriage of two independent and equally irritable intelligences seems to me reckless to the point of insanity. You can hurt one another so dreadfully.' He's told her that anybody can have the harmony if they're left with the counterpoint. She asks him what he means. He says he likes his music polyphonic and if there's an undercurrent to what he said she knows what he meant. She says – 'polyphonic music needs a musician or, in this case, two'. He admits that 'Bach isn't a matter of an autocratic virtuoso and a meek accompanist' but says she knows enough and asks if she wants to be on the team."

"Oh, I see. Very clever. And you think that's what Thirteen sent?"

"Shall I play it?" She hesitated, then nodded.

"Sure," she said, then leaned back in her seat with an expectant look on her face. Of course, he'd have to get up and she'd get the full dorsal. Not that that would bother him, if he wasn't at such a disadvantage. He'd have to bend down to put the CD in the player. Should he let the apron drop forward and flash her or should he crouch down and keep his catering pack wrapped? Rachel snuffled in her sleep.

"Do you need to do something about that?" he asked glancing over at the baby.

"No," she said, with a smile.

"What no paranoid check?"

"No, happy with the visuals here." Her eyes were laughing. He scowled as she used his own words against him.

"Those are my words get your own."

"Pay back's a bitch," she said trying not to laugh. He sighed and went to change the CD.

"Well?" he asked as he turned back round as the first few notes came though the speakers. Her gaze slowly scanned up his body to his face.

"Odd Chippendale style music."

"Ha, ha." Still, the fact that she had associated him, his body and a Chippendale's scenario couldn't be all bad, could it?

"Don't I even get a token gesture?" she waved her hand in emphasis. He knew what she meant and he'd be asking for something similar if the situations were reversed. This could go one of two ways she could laugh… evilly or happily. Of course, if the situation was reversed and Cuddy did a 'token gesture' it could be a very potent weapon. He just thought he'd look silly. Got to be more vulnerable to find out how interested she is, he reminded himself. At least this could be laughed off.

"I hate you," he said, but he put his hands on his hips and gamely tilted his hips backwards and forwards suggestively. She looked him up and down. Then did it again more slowly, appreciation in her eyes.

"Satisfied?"

"I think you need to work on your style – presentation's not bad though," she said eyeing the twitching apron.

"I hope you realise this is unfair." He aimed for her guilt complex.

"All's fair in love and war," she returned, then laughed.

"Cuddy, laughing at a guy when he's almost naked is not fair – even wars have rules."

"I know, but you don't play by them so, for you, I'm making an exception." Okay, missed her guilt complex by miles back to the music.

"Is this the piece Thirteen sent?"

She shook her head looking disappointed. He reached for the remote and moved the CD on a track.

"How about this?" he asked softly. Her face lit up.

"Yes, that's it."

"Second movement."

"Is that significant?" she asked. He shrugged.

"Highlights the counterpoints more."

"Do you think that Thirteen knew about the Dorothy Sayers' reference when she sent the music?"

"I shouldn't think so," he returned, dryly.

Cuddy didn't seem to be getting his message or she deliberately didn't want to get it. Other people… other men had got through her defences, hell, he had once, surely it wasn't a one way system?

"Did he get the girl… Wimsey, did he get the girl?" asked Cuddy, breaking his reverie.

"Typical girlie question. Yes, he got the girl."

"But it took him six years?" she asked, watching him as he limped back to the couch to sit down.

"He screwed it up the first time… and the second and the third. Once it was screwed it was very difficult to unscrew it," he said, with some feeling, staring at the speakers across the room.

"And did they live happily ever after?"

"Apparently. The meeting of minds was matched by a meeting of bodies and they were still going strong after three kids, a house in the country… oh, and a war," he finished, turning his head to look at her.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, catching him off-guard.


	49. Twinkle Toes and Silver Tongues

He grabbed the mousse and took a huge spoonful. When he said he was looking for something more positive from Cuddy he hadn't exactly expected her to call him on it. However, he was prepared with a cover story.

"I'm doing what you asked," he paused, watching her puzzled face. "Sharing," he added, to elucidate.

"Sharing?" she asked, astonishment in her voice, her eyes wide.

"Is this a word you don't recognise? I believe it means something along the lines of 'to allow someone to use or enjoy something that one possesses - a reciprocal exchange of data, objects… actions'..."

"I understand what sharing is, it's just it's proximity to you that's causing the problem," she huffed.

"Nice. Here I am sharing my musical knowledge, as requested, and all I get is abuse." He put on his best hurt expression.

"I'm not asking about that. Why did you email the music in the first place? And don't insult both our intelligences by trying to deny it."

"I repeat, for the slow on the uptake amongst us, I'm sharing." He watched the perplexity and scepticism cross her face.

"Sharing what? Your love of puzzles? Wow!"

"That too," he said, cryptically. He just loved keeping her confused.

"Too?"

"Considering what you told me your favourite song is, I was trying for a bit of musical education while I was at it."

"Right," she said, drawing out the vowel slowly. "Right, I told you my favourite song and you're reciprocating by telling me yours? Except, of course, being male, yours have got to be bigger and better and more, lots more."

"Not really," he said, carefully. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Elaborate!"

"Nothing to get worked up about. You told me _all_ your favourite things - book, song, movie, ice cream, sexual position, etc., etc. I'm just sharing a few of my favourites things to help balance the score." He suddenly felt horrified. "These are not 'Sound of Music' favourite things, there are no raindrops on roses moments," he clarified.

"Are you saying 'A Thousand and One Nights' is your favourite book? And how am I supposed to know which of the plethora of songs you've mentioned is your favourite? In the interests of balance you seem to have gone over the top."

"You know me," he smirked.

"Yes, I do," she said, with feeling. "But not as much as you know about me. You've got a lot more revealing to do to balance that evening out."

"Not going to happen - I'm not currently experiencing chemically induced disinhibition?"

"Why do you have to know everything about me but I can't know about you?" she retorted.

"Know your enemy," he returned, but then softened it with a hint of a smile. Unfortunately, he'd poked some shallowly buried memory.

"You shouldn't have listened," she snapped. That had to be one of the most illogical things he'd ever heard her say.

"Right!" He said, astounded.

"You don't normally. You tell me what a waste of time it is!" Okay, she did have a teeny weeny, point there.

"Ahh. You were making it very hard for me to ignore you."

"Really?" Her turn to sound astounded.

"You did take all your clothes off!" She closed her eyes and swallowed.

"And being the gentleman you are, naturally, you looked away," she said. Looked away, she had to be joking. At the time, she'd have been pissed as all hell if he'd looked away. In fact, she'd been very insistent, very, very insistent and when he tried to do the decent thing and momentarily glanced away pretending he wasn't interested she'd pouted and phoned the bellboy – to get a second opinion. After that it had been easier to go with the flow… and his inclination. Although given the dreams he'd been having since, he wasn't sure that had been the best choice. Who was he kidding? It had been a good choice. It could even end up being an excellent choice if he could just stop her being so defensive.

"You must be joking! Every time I looked away you did something reckless." That was his excuse and he was sticking to it. Not that he needed an excuse…

She looked contemplative for a moment.

"If you are balancing the score… you should be naked." Ohh, sneaky, Cuddy.

"I repeat, not currently experiencing chemically induced disinhibition," he returned.

"You're shy?" she accused.

"Since when?" he said, looking her in the eye.

"Prove it," she called his bluff.

"Now that's childish," he said. If she was going to use his tactics against him, he could use hers against her!

"Worth a try," she shrugged. Sly, cunning Cuddy, he thought.

"I knew you were born to be wild," he baited. Naturally, she ignored it and moved on.

"I thought I had to be in a compromising position before you told me your favourite things…?" she asked, with the sort of look she'd give a pancreatic dissection – laser focused curiosity, with a sharp instrument in her hand.

"You don't think being here with a semi naked employee is a compromising position?"

"No. This is personal time, there was no coercion. We could both be sat here naked and it wouldn't be compromising. Don't follow that thought through," she warned. It was so tempting to follow that through, so tempting. Several of his neurons crossed in an attempt not to let the thoughts pass.

"I decided to make an exception." He finally managed to say after a fight with his thought processes.

"Why?"

"Why not?" he returned. She glared at him. "I told you, educational. I'm just trying to broaden your horizons."

"My horizons?" she parroted.

"Well, your ass is broad enough." He pointed with his spoon. "I'm trying to correct the balance between your ordered, tight-assed scheduling ways with a bit of open, flowing, spontaneous artistry." He twirled the spoon in the air to represent… airiness.

"You think my life is unbalanced?" she asked. Ooo, dangerous question.

"In the seesaw of life you're heavily weighted to the dark, organizational side. I'm sitting on the other side trying to counterbalance your administrative ass with my creative free spirit."

"This will be the Jack Daniels you stole from Wilson?" Very funny, Cuddy. He gave her a mock smile.

"Partypants used to know how to control her work/ life balance."

"I still do," she said.

"You've forgotten how to enjoy life," he shot back. She looked incredulous.

"I can't believe that Gregory House can lecture me on enjoying life. I'm a mother, my life is full of joy," she said, convincingly. He looked at her thoughtfully while sucking his spoon.

"Joyful moments maybe, but you need more than that to be happy. You need stimulation… mental and physical."

"I get quite enough of both, thanks," she said, dryly.

"You need something more, otherwise why are you here?" he asked, his head cocked slightly to the side.

"I'm making you pay up on a bet!"

"And?" he prodded. She paused before responding.

"Enjoying the view while I'm at it." Interesting admission, he thought. Of all the things she could have said, she'd gone for the physical aspect – that being the thing she found easiest to deal with – the most superficial. If he were honest with himself, he was guilty of doing the same thing.

"Why? The view something you don't get to see often…?" So he'd seen the boundary she'd drawn and he'd stepped straight over it! She looked at him, speculatively.

"Say, hypothetically, I accept your point," she said, slowly. "Where are you going with this?"

"You're accepting that you need more stimulation?" His eyes widened, his head cocked slightly to the side as he assessed her.

"Hypothetically…," she stressed. "I mean… I don't have time for other… activities."

"You should make time. You made time for the changeling," he said, as if it had been easy to implement.

"And therefore chose to sacrifice other things," she said.

"Do you think it's healthy to bring up a child in such a regimented routine?" He, himself, had very strong views on regimented routines. He was expecting Cuddy to stick to the psychobabble line. She didn't disappoint.

"Naturally, children need boundaries, structure…" He interrupted her before she got into lecture mode.

"They also need to be impulsive, and, surprisingly, even to be bored sometimes in order to bring out their creative side. Nothing so stifling to a child's development as an inflexible routine," he said. He saw her thought processes screech to a halt. She was looking at him… assessing rather than suspiciously. She swallowed, then licked her lips.

"So," she said, slowly, "this is you offering to provide creative instruction for Rachel?"

"Don't be ridiculous. No, this is me showing you how to broaden your horizons so you can provide the stimulating environment."

"I'm having difficulty getting my mind round this concept, especially the bit where you appear to care. However, following this idea through, you showing me is… going to the opera, a concert, the ballet, or just listening to music…?"

"Your education seems to be sadly lacking in these areas," he affirmed. She leaned back into the couch.

"What's in it for you…?"

"Just a friendly gesture," he shrugged.

"True, it is the sort of thing one friend might do for another but we're not really that sort of friends - you don't even call me Lisa. Can you even say it?"

Ahh, she had mentioned that before but he hadn't really considered that seriously. She didn't really want that did she? Surely, House and Cuddy were practically terms of endearment now?

"Lee…" his faced screwed up. "Leese," his mouth contorted. "Leeessse…" he tried again. Cuddy laughed.

"So, you are trying to be friends?" she asked.

"Perish the thought," he faux shuddered. He was way passed the friends stage.

"Well, you did say friendly gesture," she pointed out.

"Figure of speech." He dodged.

"Are you being altruistic?" She moved on. He hated it when she played him at his own game. Hated it so much he almost smiled. She knew he'd have a reason but she didn't trust him. Then again, he was having problems explaining to himself what he was doing, especially as there was a strong possibility that this was not going to end well.

"Not exactly," he hedged.

"So, what is it you want in return?"

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head slightly. Okay, big fat lie but he thought it would be rushing it to say I want into your head, bed, home, life. That sort of forthrightness was not likely to get the desired result, although he knew he had to speed up on the glacial pace he'd set before. Always such a fine balance.

"Nothing? Gregory House wants nothing – does not compute. It's surreal… have I walked into a parallel universe? Did we have a bet I don't remember? You trying to butter up the boss?" Not surprisingly, she wasn't buying it. Interesting reasons she was guessing at.

"Yes, no, no and I think I'd try whipped cream or chocolate first rather than butter but I guess I'll try anything once. I suppose butter would better ease the ceased and rusty lock on the chastity belt," he said.

"Hmmm, deflection… why are you trying to get into my good graces?"

"Good graces? Is that what they're calling panties these days?" He could see her frustration levels rising – it was such fun to watch.

"You always have a reason House. I mean bypassing the obvious that you were perhaps asking me out on a date…" she paused allowing him time to confirm or deny. He swallowed... twice. And his breathing might have speeded up – just a bit. How swiftly the tables could turn.

"Date?" Was his voice a bit high there? He cleared his throat. "I understand why someone who hasn't dated in a decade would see invitations everywhere. I suppose I was asking you out… but without the date part."

"So if we went out there would be no expectation of sex?"

"Uhmm, well, if you were feeling so inclined, I wouldn't want to spoil the evening…"

"A simple non-date, non-friend evening out with no fringe benefits." Why did she have to be so specific and try and pin everything down? Couldn't she just give a little? Okay, so it was him, and his track record for messing with her was legendary – this could take a while.

"That would be a waste of time. The fringe benefit being that you would learn something."

"Would you be expecting me to pay you for these… lessons. This would be a business transaction?"

"You'd be paying for the tickets, yes. But paying me? I was thinking more in terms of payment in kind… for services rendered!"

"But as this is you sharing… balancing the score, then I've already made a down payment… therefore, this is you paying me in kind?" Bugger, couldn't fault her logic there – especially as it was true and he'd just been trying it on.

"Damn, I guess it is. You got me."

"Because you feel obligated?"

"Me! Obligated! No…" He stopped himself. If he wasn't careful he'd push her frustration too far and fun though it was to watch Cuddy blow off steam, now might not be a good time to do that, especially as he didn't want her going home yet. "It's complicated."

"You're messing with my head," she said, resignedly.

"Yes… and no. It's a balance thing. Sort of a win-win." He moved his hands in a seesaw motion."

"Ah, right, balance… seesaw of life. And who says I want you on the other end of the seesaw?"

"Well, you need somebody," he stated. She shook her head.

"I don't think so. I went into this knowing I'd be a single mother."

"But you don't want to settle for that. You want the whole thing – the full family unit including the dog."

"Are you volunteering to be some sort of temporary male role model? Considering, after all this time, that it's extremely unlikely that I'll find Mr Right now, you could end up in that role for a long time."

"Well, to be literal, I'm Mr Right Now or perhaps that's here and now. However, as you compromised on the kid, perhaps now you're ready to stop looking for Mr Perfect and accept Mr Close Enough."

"Close Enough? We're back to the article on the behaviour of mature female mice, are we?"

"You set such high standards – everything always has to be perfect but life never is. It's not about accepting second best, because you'd never do that. But, in your ideal world, there's a father for Rachel and you're not going to give up looking but your criteria has to change – to be more realistic, as you keep telling me."

"I am being realistic," she said, in astonished determination.

"No, you're in denial. Let's see… DDX for Cuddy relationships… narcissistic, selfish, perfection seeking, obsessive, middle-aged control freak seeks…"

"I'm selfish?" she asked, incredulously.

"Of course. You're set in your ways. You want everything done the Cuddy way. Neat, tidy, spotless clean, eco-friendly, ordered. She," he said, nodding his head in Rachel's direction, "was a huge learning curve for you, emotionally, physically… not so much intellectually. It sort of gave me hope that you'd learned to share."

"Oookaaay. If I'm sharing more, hence 'I' am now less selfish… in your balancing theory, that means you are more selfish to balance it out?"

"That's not how a seesaw works," he said smugly. She frowned in concentration.

"So, what you're saying is that if I've got less selfish you have also lost selfishness to keep the balance. Somehow, I just can't see that working."

"You have so little imagination. Rachel has the selfishness."

"What?" He held back a smile, it was always such fun to startle such erudite responses from her.

"Babies are all about selfishness. Me, me, me. Feed me, burp me, diaper me, cuddle me. You're just hard-wired to find these demands cute so you nurture and feed them," he responded.

"So, you are still the same level of selfish you always were which is selfish enough for two people?"

"Correct," he said. "Now back to the DDX…"

"You missed mother," she said, interrupting him. Now it was his turn to have his brain stutter. Huh?

"Mine or yours?"

"Me," she said dryly.

"Ahh. Your relationships failures didn't occur while you had spawn, but I suppose she is now another variable. Narcissistic, selfish, perfection seeking, control freaking, obsessing, middle-aged mother. Is that better?"

"Hardly. Is this some sort of romance guide from House?" She huffed a little laugh. "Sorry, I had trouble saying House and romance in the same sentence without smiling. Are you going to help me pick out my next boyfriend? I really don't think we have the same taste in men."

"Yeah, your tastes have been so stellar up to now! Present company excepted."

"Really, present company? So you're volunteering for babysitting, diaper changing, father figuring, child rearing, reliable, dependable, fun loving, trash disposing, meal preparing, shopping boyfriend?"

"There you go you see - you can't get all that in one man. Your standards are too high. You need two or three boyfriends at least. I volunteer to be the one who provides sex. Wilson is the cooking, cleaning, shopping, dry cleaning collecting, garbage disposing man. We can make a happy little ménage à trois…?"

"Now we're back to the houseboys I see. Except baby makes four."

"Ménage à quatre?" He tried.

"Rachel is the most important thing in my life. She's my responsibility but anyone in my life has to get on with her, too. More than that, they have to want her in their life."

"So are you saying you wouldn't accept a date from someone unless they had already ingratiated themselves with the rugrat first? That doesn't make sense. She'll accept, unconditionally, whoever is introduced to her at the moment. She gets attached, guy asks you out, you say no, guy exits – upset kid. The guy should approach the mother first then deal with the kid. Besides, it's not like someone isn't going to know you're not a package deal… two packages little baby and big baby – unless you are picking them up in bars and not mentioning the kid or the hospital."

"If," she stressed the if, "if I were considering a relationship then Rachel would have to factor into it early. Now I'm a mother, whatever spare time I had before has disappeared. Anybody who wanted to date me would have to at least like Rachel because otherwise any time spent with me would be the 15 minute slot between Rachel having her last feed and me collapsing into bed."

"I knew you'd do it to a schedule," he said, smugly.

"And what's wrong with that?"

"No, spontaneity."

"I told you I don't need spontaneity."

"Have you never had a relationship, where you always wanted to be around someone, missed them when they weren't there, couldn't keep your hands off them?" Surely, she was like that with Llyn?

"Yes," she said economically.

"Yes! Yes? What sort of answer is that?" he asked, disgustedly.

"A direct one."

"Well, speaking generically for my gender, I wouldn't want to be restricted to one 15 minute slot… wait, would that be every day? Only I guess that would be okay once the initial hormone surge tailed off." He got the inscrutable Cuddy look. "Anyway, I'd want to secure the deal with the mother before traumatizing the parasite with my brand of caring. Despite the fact you have brought her tonight, you said you didn't want Rachel getting to know me and then me exiting – that makes far more sense. Or are you applying different criteria for me?"

"Actually, I said 'then you lose interest'. Where's this coming from House? You didn't want a relationship with me before I had a child. Are you saying you want one with me now I have Rachel?" She gave him an enquiring look. His dumbfounded silence was enough for her to continue. "Didn't think so."

"I'm just saying that you're too rigid. You are going to miss out on short term fun because you're always looking for the long-term? Just because you're a mother? Beside which that's just crazy – nothing lasts forever."

"Says the man who never gets started – you always anticipate the worse, deaden the pain, stupefy the mind, pretend that's what you want. And you think I'm the idiot." Wow, she switched that to him, personally, quickly. He dodged by reflex.

"I didn't say idiot. Don't do yourself down."

"And you just close everything down." She dropped her spoon in the mousse and got up. No, no, no, she couldn't go yet. You are an idiot you forgot you were supposed to be balancing. You dodged the question one to many times.

"Hey, you can't go yet! The mousse isn't finished," he wheedled.

"Give me one good reason why I should stay," she asked. Think quickly, what will work… Because I want you to? Because I need you to? That was a bit cheesy, right? The sort of thing Wilson might get away with but not him, it just sounded selfish.

"Other than the mousse isn't finished?" Really dazzling response there, Greg, woo her with your stunning repartee, why don't you? That's got you another three nanoseconds of thinking time.

"I've had enough," she said, glaring down at him.

"Enough! Enough! You can never have enough chocolate mousse. I can't believe that you, a woman, can have had enough chocolate."

"I'm not talking about the chocolate."

"We haven't explored all the options that non-dating can bring…" She moved towards Rachel. "Why would we date?" he added quickly. "We've known each other for years, what would be the point of going on a date?" She spun back round to respond.

"Dates are where you learn things about people, enjoy each others company. See if you can sustain a conversation without petering off into long silences or breaking out into heated exchanges every ten minutes. Are you hiding behind the word educational because that sounds less intimate to you?"


	50. The fat lady sings maybe

"Did you ever have sex with any of your lecturers?" She looked… displeased. "You can do that… the learning and the enjoying without it being a date," he said, tentatively. She rolled her eyes. "Take tonight for example, we…"

"House!" She interrupted him, a sort of flabbergasted realisation on her face. "Is that what these bets have been about? They're your version of dates?" Yep, her gast was definitely flabbered.

"Theeeyyy'rrreee my version of non-dates," he said carefully. "They just happen to meet your criteria for dates." He watched her go from pissed to steaming in two nanoseconds. Impressive. While he sat and admired what the sudden deep breath did to her chest, some deep-rooted self-defensive mechanism leapt to life and he proffered the chocolate mousse… then the puppy-dog eyes… The threat of serious, explosive physical violence hovered in the air... long enough for him to begin to sweat, then she huffed out the breath she had been holding and the steam stopped coming out of her ears.

"You're going to use chocolate against me? That's so underhanded," she said.

"You said all's fair in love and war."

"And which is this?"

"Yet to be decided?" he said. She hesitated. "You know it's perfectly acceptable for a woman to surrender. It is in fact, if used properly, a very effective tactic."

With a disgruntled look and a huff, she grabbed the mousse from him, sat down, cradled the bowl and took a spoonful. She sucked at the spoon thoughtfully while staring sightlessly at a picture on the wall opposite.

"This was you setting the mood, was it?" she said.

"What?" Was startled out of him.

"The budding lothario, setting the mood with the music. This is all about getting me to have sex with you?"

"No," he returned. Okay, she was getting close and sex certainly featured as a close next step but it wasn't his main aim… make that wasn't his only aim. There was nakedness as well.

"No?" No surprise she wasn't buying that, he was going to have to concede a little here.

"Not entirely. Although…"

"Stop wheedling, House," she interrupted him. "It's not going to happen. How did you think it was going to work?"

"Well, insert Tab A in Slot B – the usual..."

"Don't be stupid," she snapped.

"I'm not being stupid," he declared.

"You're deflecting which, at this particular juncture, is stupid," she insisted. Right. Okay. Maybe she had a point. The trouble was he was now in uncharted waters and he wasn't sure which direction he should go in. Flippancy was always such a good standby but he'd only just got her to 'surrender' by the skin of the mousse. There was only one reason she'd done that - she was expecting to 'talk' or, more to the point, him to talk. He wasn't ready for that, they weren't ready for that. More balancing was required. But how did he get this across to her without screwing everything up?

"I'm not stupid. Not completely. Some bits are missing. Anyway, it's surface deflecting – it's sort of a position holder."

"While you think of something suitably mocking, cruel and sarcastic?"

"I was going to go for frank and earnest…" She laughed. House felt a jolt of confusion. The last thing he had expected was Cuddy to laugh. This was not going to be good.

"Sorry," she waved a hand in apology, "Why? House we're fine as we are. You're right, this… non-date has been surprisingly… educational – fun, interesting, pleasant. By all means let us do it again sometime." Oookay, not entirely bad but not really what he was aiming for.

"Can we both end up nearly naked next time?"

"That's about as likely as… Oh, I don't know… you saying 'I love you'. To somebody else – not yourself. Just so we're clear," she said, smiling. This smiling thing really had him bewildered.

"You think so?" he asked, leaning towards her as he stretched towards the mousse with his spoon. She smacked his hand away and cuddled the bowl closer.

"Definitely," she insisted, with a smirk on her lips.

"Wanna bet?" That knocked the smirk off her face, to be replaced by shocked disbelief. Then she looked irritated as a thought occurred to her.

"I mean saying it when you mean it," she said, pointing her spoon at him "not lying through your teeth to win a bet."

"Okay," he said, nonchalantly.

"Okay? What? Oh, this is where we have sex so you can say it at the climatical moment," she hazarded, taking another mouthful of mousse.

"That works, too," he said, as maddeningly calmly as he could muster. He really needed to knock her thought processes out of the groove they were in with regard to his… up close and personal relationships. She was back to the amused disbelief look.

"Too…? I don't believe you'd even say it during sex."

"In the afterglow?" He suggested.

"No," she said, shaking her head for emphasis, still with that maddening smirk on her face.

"Wanna bet?"

"No!"

"So you're not certain?" He poked.

"I am certain but I'm not having sex with you," she insisted. At least the smirk had gone.

"You're calling me a liar and not allowing me to clear my name?"

"I'm calling you a manipulative bastard." At least that was honest… and irrefutable.

"There is that – takes one to know one," he paused, thinking. "I could call a hooker, then you can watch while I prove it?"

"No! Are you telling me you say 'I love you' to your hookers?"

"For practice? In case I ever need it," he lied.

"Then that's not saying it when you mean it. And, anyone who says 'I love you' during sex cannot be held to have meant it either, so I wouldn't accept that as proof positive."

"That's harsh, Cuddy. Very harsh. It could be meant – you know how verbal men are at that hormonal surging moment. " She gave him a get real look. Damn. "That's a no to the bet then?" he asked, half-heartedly.

"Yes, that's a NO." Trust Cuddy to be so adamant, couldn't she just be… easy for once?

"I thought you liked sex?" He tried a change of tack.

"The answer is still no." Bugger.

"I don't suppose…"

"No," she insisted. He opened his mouth. "NO. You're like a dog," she said, in exasperation.

"Loyal? Hairy? Long wet tongue? Humping your leg?"

"Persistently hopeful - which is odd because for most things you're like Eeyore – the morose donkey... otherwise known as an ass." She paused, then something unpleasant flashed across her face. "Is this you marking your territory? It's not as if you want the full family thing, is it? This is your true selfishness coming out and you're trying to reduce my socializing time to zero so no-one else can get a look in?"

Whoa, where had that come from? He'd interrupted a few of her dates… maybe it wasn't outside the bounds of possibilities but she'd never had that look on her face before - not for this. Exasperated, annoyed, irritated, resigned definitely but full on anger? Okay, no need to panic - just a simple misunderstanding based on an extrapolation of passed misdemeanours, easily resolved with a calm, rational response.

"Hey, you're the one who said you'd made sacrifices and didn't have time for other 'activities'. Besides, you said you'd enjoyed this evening?"

"But all this was you trying to get sex?" she asked, angrily. She put the bowl down so she could turn more fully towards him giving him the direct angry glare. Okay, not easily resolved.

"No, I can get sex any time I want." He went for outright denial – difficult to argue with that.

"Free sex!" Ouch. He supposed he deserved that. But still, words could hurt.

"No," he snapped. "Hard as this is for you to believe, but I can get that too, if I put my mind to it." Which he didn't do often, admittedly. Hookers were much less effort. He watched her carefully. He could tell that she was rethinking but she'd backed herself into a corner which was going to be difficult to get out off, gracefully. Especially, as she still had some residual anger and nothing to point it at except him. What would Wilson advise in this instance… he was successful at getting the girl just not in keeping them. Wilson would cave, but House couldn't see where he could cave to… wait, maybe…

"Whatever you think… that wasn't me, I didn't mean it, Wilson did it and ran away, it wasn't my fault – no wait, that should be it's all my fault, it will never happen again, I'm an idiot, it's the Vicodin talking, help I being manipulated by a yellow elephant with pink spots…I'll buy you Godiva chocolates…" She looked stunned, that was better than pissed, right? "I'm trying to channel Wilson here. I take it I'm not getting it right?" She looked thoroughly unimpressed.

"You'll buy?" she asked, sceptically. "I take it that's another figure of speech?"

"No, I'll buy… Wilson will pay." He tried a winning smile.

"I don't want anything from Wilson, even obliquely." Her eyes were boring into his. He could feel himself squirming internally under her scrutiny. He didn't know what to say or do especially when she was looking at him like that… expectantly. What did she want? His mind scrabbled for some sort of hint, he was obviously close to something… but he was clueless. He could see she was tense, her shoulders taut, waiting. He needed more time.

"Turn round," he said, suddenly.

"What!" Back to the stunned, erudite response – easy does it, House, don't startle the birdie.

"Turn round. So your back is to me." He made a spinning motion with his hand. She gave him a sceptical look.

"Why?" Not an outright rejection, he'd take that as a good sign.

"You're getting all stressy – for no good reason I might add. I can see your neck muscles knotting from here. If you don't want a headache turn round." She hesitated, and briefly worried her bottom lip with her teeth.

"What are you going to do?"

"Nothing from this angle." She kept glancing behind her as she slowly turned round. "Untrusting soul," he muttered.

"Always wise when Gregory House is asking you to turn your back to him, especially while offering something for free."

"Did I say it was free?"

"If you mention sex again I'll…" He put his hand on her shoulders and started massaging, which effectively shut her up.

"Offer me violence – again," he completed for her. "I know," he continued. She groaned or moaned he wasn't quite sure which. "I take it that's a good moan?"

"Yes," she conceded. "Another of your hidden talents? And do not give me a 'friends with benefits' spiel."

"See, I knew you'd want the whole family caboodle." He tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice. "You'll be getting the pet next."

"She's too young for that, yet," she replied, slowly, apparently savouring his ministrations.

"But you've already started thinking about it right?"

"No!" she exclaimed, indignantly.

"Liar!"

"I've just mulled it over – it's not really practical." He gave a rare smile which she couldn't see but obviously felt. "Fine," she conceded, "I've thought about it," she waved her hand, smiling. She closed her eyes and let her head drop forward to give him better access to her neck. Her hair fell forward and he was presented with her nape… her very tempting nape. He bit his lip and contented himself with kneading her neck. She wouldn't let him get away with this stalling for long, and the longer he took the more she'd be thinking – which may or may not be dangerous.

"And the pre-school, and the school, and the college and her first boyfriend you shadchan you – you've got it all planned out."

"No," she said, but he could hear the smile in her voice even with her head down.

"Okay, I withdraw the boyfriend but the rest you've planned. Any chance she'll get her own input? She'll be running away before she's 14 just to introduce some spontaneity into her life."

"You think taking her to see Scheherazade will make a difference?" She turned round to face him and his hands dropped down to his sides.

"It might," he said, looking her in the eye.

"Once wouldn't be enough. She'd need… we'd both need… educating on a continuous basis. In other words commitment. I need someone reliable and dependable."

"Why?" he asked.

"Why?" she parroted.

"Yes, why? You've got nannies, babysitters, probably the National Guard lined up to take care of Rachel. Why do you need someone reliable?"

"Because Rachel, as you pointed out, will attach herself to anyone. She'll look to that person as a father figure, she'll have expectations, and she'll rely on them." He froze momentarily at the mention of father figure. He wasn't cut out to be anybody's father, maybe Cuddy was right and this wasn't a good idea. Cuddy deserved better than him but she'd had her chances and come up with a load of losers, so she was fair game but Rachel…

"So that's your compromise to Mr Perfect - everything is downgraded to Mr Boringly predictably, reliably, dependable?

"House… you've obviously been planning this. You made a bet you couldn't win, sent music, playing games – its all stems from that weekend in New York. Are you trying to tell me that me taking my clothes off has you wanting a relationship with me?"

"Well, it was a big incentive… your ass, I mean." She shook her head with a small exasperated smile.

"Balancing the score, you said. Did I reveal all my secrets?" she asked.

"I don't know if it was all…"

"House, it wouldn't matter if I said 'I loved you'." His heart plummeted, his throat tightened.

"Oh! But…"

"Love isn't enough, House. I can't depend on it, I can't rely on it. Despite what the songs say reality always wins and you are nothing but a realist, so you know this," she continued.

"Doesn't it give you something to work with?"

"I won't bring discord into Rachel's life. I can't make the same decisions I would have a few months ago. Apart from which, it seems extremely unlikely after all this time that we could now make a go of it, don't you think? House there'd have to be rules – you don't do rules. There'd have to be discretion – you don't do discretion. I do long hours the only free time I get would have to be shared with Rachel. Despite your attempts tonight, you don't do sharing. In order to get more of my time you'd have to help – you don't do helpful. Sometimes… sometimes you have wonderful moments but terrible hours, days, weeks. I don't need that at home. I don't want that at home. I need support not confrontation. I need simple not complicated. You have a very… poetic way of phrasing things, House, but I need consistency."

He felt a wave of hurt disappointment which he quickly masked. He nodded in acceptance and turned away. He poured himself a bourbon, swallowed a couple of Vicodin and walked over to his piano.

"House?" she called after him.

"It's okay, Cuddy. I got it. I don't make the team. Didn't work hard enough in practice, bad-mouthed the coach, not a team player. Flashes of brilliance don't make up for turning up late, doing no work and skipping out early."

"House, I…"

"Save me the 'let's be friends' speech, Cuddy. There's no halfway for us. It's all or nothing."

"Really? Tonight was… good, I might almost say fun. Are you saying you can only do this if you're trying to talk me into sex? And don't say something nasty just because you are feeling awkward, or sulking or whatever it is you are doing right now."

"I'm doing what I always do. Salut," he said, downing the bourbon.

"I don't want this to go back to you avoiding me like you did last time."

He tinkled 'you can't always get what you want' on the piano.

"But if you try sometimes, you get what you need'," she responded.

"Why are you still here?" he snapped. She rolled her eyes, picked up the mousse and walked over to sit next to him on the piano stool making him budge up. He was so confused he moved without thinking about it.

"We haven't done a differential on House relationships." He couldn't keep the deer in headlights look off his face. "That's what you've been doing isn't it?" she continued.

"What?" Great. Now he was giving the suave, articulate responses.

"You've been doing a differential on our relationship or lack there of, except you've been doing it by yourself – always error prone that method. You know you need a team to bounce ideas off. Did you not include Wilson?" He moved his head in a non-committal manner almost seesawing from side to side.

"Same as you did to me then. You talk to me, get some random piece of information, feed it into your differential then change your behaviour. Sorry, you don't like the word change, you reveal different aspects of your character in response to your analysis. You're just unfolding like a rose… or maybe peeling like an onion. No doubt you've asked Wilson similar ambiguous questions. What you seem to have forgotten is that other people do the same thing."

"You've been asking Wilson ambiguous questions?"

"Not yet. Of course, if we actually did something radical, like, pool our resources and did the ddx together we might progress more swiftly. The interesting thing is why haven't you initiated that? Naturally, the answer is you have. You just didn't do it in an obvious way. So we're back to the question, is this one of your games just for your entertainment or is there an undercurrent of serious intent?" She didn't seem to be asking him the question, more voicing her thought processes as she mused over the words and deeds of the evening. She savoured a spoonful of mousse. He gulped.

"So which is it?" he asked, finally, when she seemed to have been thinking about it for hours but was probably only about thirty seconds.

"I think you've balanced the seesaw so well, I don't know." She paused, thinking. "I don't really like the seesaw thing - the trouble is that the heavier one has more control and can bail more easily. I think I prefer a swing boat analogy."

"Swing boat?"

"Mmmm, one person doesn't have as much control. It doesn't have to be so finely balanced yet if both work together it's a really fun ride. Not only that, Rachel can go in the middle."

"There's no way I…" She pushed the last spoonful of mousse in his mouth.

"Don't say anything else stupid until you've thought about it. This game, possibly ending in sport… the practice session is now over. I'm going home. Thanks for sharing your musical knowledge – it was a fun idea, although the image of Taub and the Valkeries is going to be stuck in my head. I'm not going to be able to look him in the eye for weeks. Shame that's the image I'm left with."

"I'll take the apron off," he said, somewhat desperately.

"Not in front of Rachel," she blocked.

"Oh, now you don't want me naked - and using Poopypants as an excuse! She's hardly going to be traumatized at her age. I bet she's seen you naked."

"Jealous? Don't deflect. I need something more." She leaned over, cupped his jaw with her hand and kissed his cheek. She gathered up her things, grabbed hold of Rachel's carry cot and moved towards the door. All while his brain was still going what? What did that mean? What did she mean? Why did she do that?

"Oh and House…" He turned his head towards her, looking a little blankly. "You really do have a very well defined, muscular set of… biceps. Very, very…" She trailed off, smiled and shut the door.

House stared at the door. After a few moments he closed his mouth, and turned back to his piano. He looked at the empty bourbon glass. He picked up his bottles of pills and shook it. He looked down at himself. He scrabbled to the window but there was no sign of Cuddy's car. He sat down at his piano and played a few bars of 'You can't always get what you want'. What just happened there?


	51. Second Act

We are afraid to care too much, for fear that the other person does not care at all - Eleanor Roosevelt

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House was brooding at his desk, so lost in thought that he didn't notice Wilson walk into his office the following Monday morning. Wilson had to ask him a question twice.

"I said," said Wilson more loudly, "How did it go Saturday? I haven't heard from you all weekend. Does this mean you were otherwise engaged?"

"Women's mud wrestling marathon, which is better entertainment than listening to you."

"That bad, huh?" said Wilson, knowingly and therefore ignoring the snarkiness. House sighed.

"I don't know," conceded House, giving Wilson a rather lost look.

"You don't know? What? You asked her out and she said maybe? You did ask her out?"

"Yes."

"I mean like a normal person – a recognisable invitation to a normal date activity with no games, hidden agendas or snarky remarks?"

"She understood the choices," replied House, looking a bit guilty.

"She said no to all of them?" asked a slightly astonished Wilson. House shook his head.

"She didn't say yes to any of them." Wilson had to pause to think about that response.

"Did she say she'd think about it?" Wilson asked. House shrugged.

"She said…. She said she needed something more." Wilson looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Actually, that could be good," said Wilson. House looked sceptical.

"Really? Amaze me, O Insightful One, in what way could it be good?"

"She must have thought about it and decided you're not a completely hopeless case. Of course, you may not have what she wants but she's giving you the opportunity to reveal it if you have."

"Needs, she said needs," House stressed.

"Okay – needs. Did she give you a clue?"

"Yeah, a list – she lost me after simple."

"All your polar opposites," guessed Wilson. House rolled his eyes.

"Yes. She thought if we could have made a go of it we would have done it already. She compared me to an onion."

"That adds another layer to the reveal theory. And?" encouraged Wilson, recognising that House appeared stumped rather than melancholy.

"I thought that was it. She'd slammed the door on her tower, portcullis dropped down, armed guards on the battlements, every window bristling with archers, sent out workmen to dig a moat."

"But?" Wilson was teetering on the edge of frustration. House picked up his stapler and tried to balance it on the end of his cane.

"Then she said she needed something more. Not related to the aforesaid list."

"Did she say anything else?" asked Wilson. House was now trying to balance a ball on top of the stapler – without success.

"She said I shouldn't do the differential on my own – implied that was doomed to failure."

"Oh. I see." Wilson's turn to be enigmatic. House stopped his balancing act to look at Wilson.

"You do?"

"The something more is something she thinks you'll never think off." House looked sceptical.

"Like what?" House asked. Wilson sat down getting ready to warm to his theme.

"Romance, thoughtfulness, openness," started Wilson. House looked disgusted and went back to his balancing task.

"I can do romance…" House paused thinking, "not on demand but on occasion…"

"Flowers, chocolates, jewellery, perfume."

"That's not romance – that's just barter for sex."

"Women like these things," said Wilson.

"Yes, they like them but romance is in the mind, appealing to the senses."

"So that's flowers, chocolates, jewellery, perfume," Wilson persisted.

"Boring, and doesn't stimulate the mind," said House, dismissively. He was back to balancing the ball on the stapler.

"How did you attempt to appeal to Cuddy's senses then?" asked Wilson, intrigued.

"Wined, dined, visual, aural and oral stimulation." House waggled his eyebrows. "Cuddy likes having her mind stimulated. It gets the blood flowing, if you know what I mean."

"Visual stimulation?"

"I put on a porn movie…"

"House!"

"I dressed up," he said, knowing that Wilson would not get the double meaning but assume jacket and tie not French maid's outfit… thank God.

"Did you do hopes, dreams, and aspirations?" ferreted Wilson.

"This is Cuddy – our boss. Our boss who's been chatted up at more social events than you've seen patients. That sort of approach is likely to receive scathing treatment, if not have her sending my balls back to me on a platter and I don't mean those on my desk."

"True… did you tell her you liked her?" The ball and stapler clattered to the floor.

"What?" Was House's smart response.

"Were you too busy being clever to actually tell her the 'simple' things such as 'I like you'? You didn't, did you?" said Wilson, accusingly.

"Not in those words," House squirmed. "I compared us to a couple of violins..." He offered. Wilson looked almost impressed. House continued, "Except we're more like a grand piano and a penny whistle with no chance of harmony. She's the grand piano – all those curves."

"That's … that's quite remarkable. Was she swayed by that rhetoric?"

"I think she was… intrigued."

"It could have been worse. So, what did you do to screw it up?" asked Wilson, trying to pin him down. At this point House went back to looking lost.

"Rachel," House mumbled, "I can't be a father-figure."

"Why not?"

"What sort of role model am I? Pill-popping, beer swilling, fry eating, fat guzzling, porn watching, hooker using ass."

"Someone who cares enough to think that those things might be important," replied Wilson, unimpressed with House's self loathing.

"I'm not going to change."

"So, if you were having sex with Cuddy you'd still be hooker using?" House stilled but didn't answer, just glued his eyes to Wilson's face. "Porn watching…?" continued Wilson.

"Possibly… if she wasn't there… away at a conference or something," said House, trying to be honest.

"In front of Rachel?"

"No!" Wilson looked smug at having proved his point.

"Thought so! Just an excuse. You bottled it. You're scared, House. For one, you're scared that Rachel will like you and that you'll care." House went back to his balancing act.

"Don't be ridiculous, she'll more likely hate me…"

"You don't have a problem with kids," Wilson interrupted. "You don't have much interest but you don't have a problem. I've seen you connect time and again. You know you'll care and if you fail you'll lose two people not just one. That scares you. Life is all about swings and roundabouts – you're too scared to get on and try." House looked mutinous.

"I am…" The door swung open and Cuddy leaned into the room, one hand on the edge of the door the other on the handle. Ball and stapler clattered to the floor. Her expression was stern as she looked from one to the other. They both looked like deer caught in headlights. House recovered first.

"Tad dah! And for my next trick I need a condom and a volunteer." He looked at Wilson and then at Cuddy.

"Ballet," she said and turned away, letting the door close behind her. The two men stared, slack jawed, at the space she had just vacated.

"Did she say 'bally' or 'bal-lay' as in ballet?" asked House. Wilson looked puzzled.

"Ballet. I'm fairly sure she said ballet," he said, eventually. House surged towards his keyboard and tapped away rapidly. "What are you doing?" asked Wilson.

"Removing the tickets from ebay," said a distracted House.

"I take it that Cuddy just let down the drawbridge?" pried Wilson. House carried on tapping. "What did you do that made her change her mind?"

"I'm not sure. I gave her a puzzle to solve."

"You did what! No wonder she said she wanted simple."

"She didn't know I'd given her a puzzle. I just thought that she'd work it out later…" House trailed off. There was a long pause.

"Do I need thumbscrews?" asked Wilson, losing patience.

"She didn't look like she'd worked it out but then she's been practicing her poker face. What do you think?"

"What was it she was supposed to work out?"

"Something simple," answered House, cryptically.

"Something simple as in I like you, I want you, I need you, I love you - unqualified?"

"Unqualified?"

"No I like your ass, I love your boobs, I want you in bed, I need your body."

"Are you mad?"

"Simple isn't easy for you, is it?" said an exasperated Wilson. House huffed.

"She likes complicated," House tempered.

"She also wants to know where she stands without guessing, second guessing, triple guessing. House, she has a lot to lose."

"We both have." Wilson looked relieved.

"You've thought about that at least."

"Self preservation. She's my boss. You think I'm doing this on some sort of whim?"

"So why haven't you… It's you that's got the problem! You need her to say or do something so that you can momentarily stop playing games to tell her that you are not playing games! She's the one who's going to have to face down the gossips and detractors and plain old spite mongers. She'll want to know that you're all in before she does that but you… you are just playing games. Life with you will not be easy…"

"She doesn't like easy," House interrupted Wilson mid flow, not wanting to shine too bright a light on sensitive areas.

"She needs to know that you're committed." House winced at the repetition of one of Cuddy's words.

"It doesn't matter if I am committed – there are no guarantees."

"That's not what she's after. She needs you to say it. Whatever something more you gave her with the puzzle, she's going to need you to say it. And, NO, actions will not be enough!"

House looked terrified, resigned and uncertain. Then he remembered how bewitching she had been, and with a big sigh closed his eyes before nodding slightly.

A/N

This is now all caught up here. Updates will now occur at he same time as Fox forums albeit without the PG-14+ bits missing! The folks there have had to be extremely patient – I have been writing this fic for more than 18 months!


	52. Seeing the wood for the trees

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A heart to love, and in that heart, courage, to make love known – Macbeth

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Lisa Cuddy sat back down at her desk, heart beating twenty to the dozen. She'd done it now. Well, at this point it could still be undone but, probably not neatly. What was she thinking? It would be a slash and burn retreat. There was the possibility that House would back down at this point… but all this effort to then sidle away…?

She hoped to God she was right. That it wasn't coincidence. As always with House it wasn't immediately obvious - in fact, it was one of those things found at the bottom of a locked filing cabinet, in a room with a bricked up doorway, found in a cellar with no stairs. It was one of those things that had to be thought about and, to be quite honest, she'd been trying not to think about it. But, sometimes, thoughts just won't be banished, especially during a late night feed, mind free wheeling and back to the music she would go.

The possibility that House had somehow opened up seemed laughable but doing it through the music… well, if he was going to do it music was certainly a good mechanism for him – so easy to camouflage your real intent and laugh it off as a game. And it was a game, with a game within a game.

House had definitely been angling for… something more. Whether that was a full blown relationship she wasn't sure - 'Will you', 'You nearly got me' and 'Nothing Else Matters' covered such a wide span of possibilities, although the lyrics to 'Don't touch me there' were pretty specific as a suggestive duet and he had said the Romanza was a torrid love affair. Was he after 'One more night' or 'A thousand and one nights'? Although Scheherazade had started off with one night which had led to more. While 'Nights in White Satin' was definitely plural. He'd started with a warning as 'I'm Bad to the Bone' could certainly describe House but what about 'Owner of a lonely heart'? Did that make the 'Arrival of the Queen of Sheba' some obscure reference to her? And what about 'Only you'? Perhaps she was just over analysing and the songs were just as House said 'stuff he liked and felt like sharing'… but even that was something.

She'd looked up Schubert's Fantasie. Apparently, pieces for four hands were very popular at the time for home entertainment therefore needed to be easy listening and easy to play. Schubert wrote many in that format but the Fantasie in F Minor was different requiring first-class performers. It was considered one of his masterpieces. Schubert dedicated this music to the Countess Caroline Esterhazy, who had been one of his piano students and for whom he had unrequited love. Then there was the fact that House had mentioned, by way of Wimsey, that the Bach 'Double Violin Concerto' also required first-class performers. As neither of them were first class performers as far as relationships went how was she supposed to take House's analogy? That nothing wonderful happened unless they worked at it? Perhaps she was stretching too much, but House had made a point of mentioning seesaws… counterpoints and balancing.

Trying a different tack, she'd tried to fit the songs into the theme of all's fair in love and war. There was 'Hit me with your rhythm stick' not exactly war and supposedly carrying an anti-violence message. 'Ride of the Valkyries' while the Valkyries were warrior maidens they escorted fallen heroes to Valhalla so that didn't seem like war. The Ring cycle itself was a fight over a ring that gave control over the world so was it some tangential allusion to their control issues? And what about Wagner himself? A pugnacious personality with outspoken views on music, politics and society not least his anti-Semitic writings made him a controversial figure during his life. But House would disregard the views to concentrate on the music.

So, she'd given up on finding meaning in the emailed music and set it aside as a general mood setter. Her mind then wandered off to his strange question 'What did she think?' She'd written the songs down to enable her to focus, although she hadn't been able to recall them all immediately. As she sat there feeding Rachel and musing she noticed that the letters made the acrostic 'you olive'. She smiled wryly and idly constructed a few anagrams in her head. She startled them both and nearly dropped Rachel when she hit on a rather meaningful anagram. Her heart fluttered, it couldn't be… she calmed Rachel and got her sucking again then wracked her brain to try to remember the order House had said them in. She was so involved she didn't notice that Rachel had finished drinking and had dozed off. Briefly, she put the list aside to put Rachel back down for the night before she scurried back to it. She had to write them down again in the right order to convince herself she was not delusional, then stared at it in disbelief, list in one hand, fingers of the other covering her mouth… for minutes. She gone cold, hot, dry mouthed, slavering mouthed, blood rushing through her ears loudly, to being able to hear a pin drop. She'd got up and paced the room, then grabbed the list to stare at it again. Well, she'd asked for something more and she'd certainly got it… and, actually, before she'd asked for it, it had just been so obscured she hadn't seen it.

Was it accidental? No, House had put too much thought into it. But that meant this could not be ignored – well, it could be ignored but … no, it couldn't. Her heart had started palpitating then, and she'd broken out into a sweat. How had he looked when he said it? Unfortunately, she hadn't really been looking at House's face when he'd been speaking. His body had been a bit of a distraction and that's what kept flitting into her mind now. She'd noticed the effect she was having on him – not in detail, unfortunately, but the subtle twitching beneath the apron, his dilated pupils, the pulse in his throat. And, admittedly, she had been toying with her audience, giving House lots of… oral inspiration. Men were such suckers for visual stimulation. The only trouble was it had somewhat backfired – all that skin, muscles rippling underneath… okay, possibly exaggerating a point, but flexing, the sprinkling of fine hairs – all crying out touch me, touch me. Even now her mind was wandering off with carnal thoughts… She wasn't shallow, really, it was perfectly healthy to admire and even lust over a fine specimen of male physique. But watching House react to her was revealing… and stimulating… to both mind and body. She'd gone from window shopping, to just looking, to practically trying him on for size. On a perfectly whimsical, shallow level this would be one of those times she wouldn't want to drop a dress size!

She'd told him love wasn't enough. He'd asked whether it wasn't something to work with. Should she ignore it? She looked at the baby monitor and thought of Rachel. She should ignore it. She should … really. But what if he said it? Could he say it? Without hiding it in a game or a euphemism or some other way? It wasn't enough that he thought it. She had to be convinced. She'd need to know he wasn't playing. Not that House would play with words like that… except for shock value when he didn't mean it. She was fairly certain this was not for shock value. His face when she'd said there was no point… the look in his eyes was scarily sad. He'd obviously opened himself a little and she'd slapped him down – again, but that was because she still thought he was being an ass – well, he was an ass but this was… this put a different complexion on things. Despite his non-date insistence he'd been asking her out – maybe as friends to see how they got on but he was not averse to the evening ending with them both naked, or nearly naked or just in a position to have sex. A position he'd dodged for years despite his innuendo and blatant sexual references.

She said she wanted commitment - someone reliable and dependable… and, inevitably, he'd challenged it. To some extent he was right, she could hire reliability and dependability. As a single mother those were her options. There was family, who would help out for a planned occasion but they weren't going to step into the breech for the exceptional circumstance and likewise for friends and colleagues. House wouldn't be interested in the daily care that a child engendered but would he step up to the plate if necessary? He wouldn't volunteer but it appeared he could be cajoled with the right incentive. That seemed to be one of the things he'd been trying to demonstrate over the last few months. Lollipops, chocolate mousse… she casually wondered what she could achieve with sex but that was really low… really low, wasn't it? Then again it was House she was talking about…

House had accused her of wanting the traditional family and yes, she did dream of that but the fact remained that she was not traditional. She was not a typical stay at home Mom, she liked… needed the challenges her job provided so it was tempting to look for the man that counterbalanced that… realistically, there were so many things wrong with that idea it was no wonder House scoffed. She did, however, need commitment. Was House prepared for that?

He'd obviously thought about a relationship and decided on what he could offer, how he would fit with Rachel and her, and music was definitely part of it. He could share music. He could communicate through music. He could tell her he loved her while apparently mocking his fellows using music. Could she accept being spoken to in music? It wasn't enough but it was a start, House was right it was most definitely a start. Perhaps she should send music back as a response? But no, that was his medium. Although, it was very tempting to send back something that made an acrostic along the lines of 'You're an ass'. What were the chances of her being able to give him clinic patients with the appropriate names? She reluctantly gave up on that idea, if only because getting House to see ten patients in a row would be practically impossible.

And now she felt relieved that she hadn't gone for a clean break when she had the opportunity. Rationally, she should have done. Everything she said was true - how could they make a go of it after all this time? Except they'd never really tried. House had always dodged and she'd been in three minds as to how stupid it would be especially as House would never open up. But here he was definitely trying - she couldn't ignore it. But why now? What had pushed him into trying to open up now? Despite his reluctance to actually say relationship the more she thought about the more she was convinced that was what he was after, but why now?

That last had to be simple. A relationship was less scary than the alternative – no relationship. As she'd seen he was Cuddytropic, her moving on had scared him, and, as Wilson had said, House had hung on to her coattails so he could orientate himself when she stopped. She'd knocked him off, which had scared him even more but then she'd gone back for him. And House had… House had… joined her. He must have realised that change was inevitable, he couldn't stop it, so he wanted to be part of it. Then, after they came back from New York, House had gone all in. No, while they were in New York. House could protest all he liked but he'd let her win that bet. He'd put himself into a position where he was vulnerable. She'd been so busy protecting herself she'd missed House taking off bits of his armour.

Of course, there were still her trust issues. House lied, cheated, stole and obfuscated, this was never going to change. When he did it to save a patient, without fear of the consequences to himself, it was admirable but if he did it to her personally as opposed to professionally? He could also be brutally honest which could be almost as hurtful. The honesty she could adjust to, the lying… no. She wasn't talking little white lies here, they were just part of the social contract. She needed to trust House and he was, inevitably, going to lie to her or abuse her trust in him. And he was such an egocentric narcissist he wouldn't realise he'd done it – no, sometimes he'd realise he'd done it but justify it as a necessary evil that wasn't to be taken personally. House wouldn't change but he could learn. He could add to his understanding and consequently, could make different behavioural choices… not necessarily would but could. If he wanted.

The question was did he want her enough to want to or even want to try? And could she weather the first lie from which House would learn… and the second and possibly third because however much he might want not to lie, it was so ingrained it was going to be difficult for him to get out of the habit? But he had said 'Just because I don't, doesn't mean I can't… that applies to a lot of things' – was she meant to understand that it could apply to House in a relationship? And why the reluctance to actually say relationship?

Unfortunately, there was only one way to find out. Having given it some serious consideration over the weekend she decided there was only one lie that she could not stomach. The rest would hurt but provided House tried to learn from the occasion she'd be able to forgive… eventually. Especially as she wouldn't make it easy for him. That just left the one lie… unfortunately, that meant she'd have to tell House about Llyn… she was going to have to trust House with information she didn't want anybody else knowing. Talk about baptism by fire! Still he had guessed that Llyn had cheated on her and he'd said he'd never cheated on Stacy… had he been plotting since he said that? Or was that sheer chance they'd had that conversation? Whatever, she was going to have to give House the details. Damn.

The irony of sharing was not lost on her. However, she had recalled that House had several times asked her to trust him over the last few weeks – being tied up, giving the speech, Peltz to name but a few. If she wasn't reading too much into his actions of late, it seemed he was aware that this was an issue. So, it might be easier than she anticipated to get House to agree to the condition of no lying. He wouldn't comply with any other rules that was certain, but perhaps just that one…?

So… which of House's non-dates did she want to try? Proms in the Park sounded good but maybe not the first time. He'd said ballet was a win-win so she'd gone for that. And now, here she was sat at her desk waiting for her heart to stop thumping. Seesaws and swing boats didn't cover it – this was a rollercoaster… a big one.

For quick reference of the acrostic…

'I Robot'

'Love the One You're With'

'Out of Time'

'Very Pretty Girl'

'Every Breath You Take'

'You Can't Always Get What You Want'

'One Year of Love'

'Unfinished Sympathy'


	53. Out of the Woods

Sorry for the delay, various drastic changes in RL. Plus since my email problems around Xmas my email address seemed to be blocked, I couldn't receive any emails and my userid/password got disable. So I apologise If I haven't responded to any body's feedback. This was not deliberate. I appreciate everyone's response and the time they take to send me a quick note saying so. Anyway, I'm back now, so on with the story.

Chapter 15c

There is no feeling, except the extremes of fear and grief, that does not find relief in music. – T.S. Eliot

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

If she told him now, that would be the end to a very pleasant evening. If she didn't tell him now then there could be no perfect end to the very pleasant evening. Well, there could be a nearly perfect end but it would be spoiled by the question niggling at the back of her mind. To tell or not to tell, that was the question… Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them? She misquoted to herself.

The ballet had been wonderful. Talk about the budding lothario setting the mood. She loved the spectacle, the music, and House trying to please her. He'd dressed up, including the tie suitably knotted around his neck. His beard was trimmed to designer stubble. He offered his arm. He was almost gallant.

It wasn't Scheherazade but Swan Lake, the Matthew Bourne version where the traditional female corps de ballet was replaced with a menacing male ensemble - House had explained.

"You mean you deliberately picked something that didn't have more women in it than men?" she'd teased.

"I was fairly certain that there would be other compensations. And I wasn't wrong," he'd said, looking down her cleavage. She'd huffed and he'd continued. "What? Looking at breasts is what men do most. There was a study at Vic Uni that breast ogling can expand a man's life by up to 5 years. I thought that was why you did it – using your assets to be a healer without actually being a proper doctor".

"You mean I'm extending your life by sitting here?"

"Apparently."

"Give me your jacket. I'll cover up immediately."

"Not a chance." He'd stared. She'd folded her arms over her chest. He'd pouted. She'd smirked. "You should be pleased," he continued. "You're helping to preserve life– even an administrator can do it. Well, an administrator with a body like yours. Some bodies would drive a man to drink, some bodies are drop dead gorgeous, while you… you just flash your eyes and turn them into stone… You Gorgon you."

All said with that teasing light in his eyes. The one that made her insides feel funny.

House's hand had been lying temptingly within reach, whether by accident or design she wasn't quite sure and she'd put her hand on his with some trepidation, less the overture be rejected but he had welcomed it, even running his thumb over the back of her hand for what felt like hours. Gently, softly, caressingly, raising the hairs up her arm.

The combination of sight and sound had been… stimulating. There was something about music that could resonate with the most primitive part of the brain, which then resonated with the most primitive part of the body. She didn't need House to tell her that manipulating a melody's pace, tone and intensity could affect your mood from sad and miserable to happy and cheerful. It had sent shivers down her spine. Even thinking about it now was making the hairs rise on her neck.

All in all a very pleasant evening, not a single snappy word between them and here she was contemplating rocking the boat… potentially. There was always the possibility that House would be… kind about this. He'd been on his best behaviour so far this evening. Even going so far as to open the car door for her. She'd smiled slightly and got in the car.

"That gets you one more brownie point," she'd said. He'd brightened.

"Really? How many do I need to score?"

"Twenty." He'd mock laughed. He'd looked thoughtful for a minute. Finally he'd asked.

"How many have I got already?" She'd smirked.

"What makes you think you've got more than one? Even assuming you didn't start in the negative. Let's see. Suggesting the ballet, thoughtful choice, excellent seats, although I probably don't want to know how you acquired them, smartening yourself up, maybe not a full point for that because you've still got trainers on. Behaving… so far, well informed and commutative, lose one point for the breast comment."

"Hey, I was complimentary!"

"Generally civil…" she'd continued, ignoring him. "I think I'll give you ten points so far." He'd slumped. She'd laughed. "However, if you can get me home without swearing I might give you five bonus points," she'd teased.

"Using the same bet I lost before – how original… and it still wouldn't be enough!"

"The night is yet young. I'm sure you'll think of something to get more points."

"I'll probably lose them quicker than I get them," he said, dejectedly.

"Probably. It will concentrate your mind."

"Humph! I bet you still wouldn't put out even if I get twenty."

"You'll never know if you don't try."

So, the evening was poised for the big finale. Between the two hair raising sensations she'd been thoroughly seduced and was more than ready for a bit of physical gratification… actually, make that a lot of physical gratification, preferably with the man beside her currently driving her home. See, this was why House was so dangerous. It would be so easy just to go with the flow… so easy, but they either started out on the right foot or they shouldn't start at all. Unfortunately, her body was giving her away just by her thinking about the… prospect.

"Are you cold?" asked House, glancing at her. She shook her head. He glanced at her a little longer before smiling slightly and turning his eyes back to the road.

"That old primitive response mechanism - gets you in the amygdala every time. No chance to hide the initial response…" Her heart did that stupid skipping a beat thing again but House carried on. "… which is why some people get an embarrassing reaction to music… such as tears when hearing the fat lady sing, Not to be confused with a music teacher's response to something she hears. You know that music activates numerous regions of the brain all at once - more than any other stimulus? Huge sections of it light up, including those responsible for emotion, memory, motor control, timing and language. It automatically engages the emotion and reward mechanisms - the same pleasure centres are activated whether you're listening to a favourite song, eating chocolate, having sex…"

"Or taking addictive drugs," she chimed in. He rolled his eyes.

"It works the other way as well - eerie-sounding or unpleasant music triggers the fear response," he said.

"Are we back to oxytocin again? Are you telling me that by listening to music together we are bonding?"

"Actually, I was thinking the dopamine/serotonin pathway but I guess oxytocin could get a look in as well," he said, innocently.

"Are you trying to bond with me, House?" He paused before replying.

"Bits of me are trying to bond with bits of you."

Okay, she could relate to that. They were both… bitty - like a jigsaw puzzle. Effort was required to put the pieces together. Sometimes you got the pieces in the wrong place and had to try again. Most people would do a jigsaw because they liked the picture. House would do it because it was a puzzle not caring about the picture… until he knew what it was, at which point he might lose interest. As obsessive as House could be about some things, he could settle for there being bits missing as long as he could see what the picture was.

However, the devil could be in the detail. They both knew this. A missing piece could be vital or… completely irrelevant, just spoiling the feeling of completeness. She started from the picture and worked towards completing it - aiming for the bits to become one. House started from the bits and stopped when he was bored. Which was salutary. Would he get bored with her?

"House…"

"Yes?"

"The acrostic…?"

"Yes…?" Confirmation it had been deliberate then, that was one small relief.

"Are you going to be able to say it?"

"I don't know. That depends on you." Not the response she was expecting.

"On me?"

"Whether you stick around long enough for one," he answered… not satisfactorily.

"And for two?"

"Whether you want to hear it," he answered… still not satisfactorily.

"Why wouldn't I want to hear it?" she asked, frustration creeping into her voice.

"Maybe I can only say it when we're both naked. Maybe I can only say it after sacrificing the goat having lit the five black candles and chanting – while naked. Maybe I can say it only once so I'll wait for the grand occasion… when we're naked."

"And if I need you to say it when we're not naked?"

"Then you'd be an idiot."

"House!" Great, now she sounded like she was pleading and that would be pointless. Either he was prepared to move forward and open up… at least a little bit. It's not like she was expecting the dam to burst. House was far too controlled for that. She was too controlled for that..

"You think I'm going to say it here?" he asked, interrupting her thought processes.

"No. I'm just trying to set expectations."

"Mine or yours?" He was winding her up. He was deliberately winding her up. He just had to test everything.

"Yours."

"Does this mean you won't put out unless I say it?"

"No. Is that the only reason you'll say it?"

"No. Quite the contrary." He paused. "So you will put out?" He was like a dog with a bone. She tightened the reins on her irritation.

"Will you?"

"I'm not easy." He could say that again. She was going to have to let him process.

"I know." She paused. "House." He looked across at her. "I enjoyed the ballet. Thank you."

He smiled slightly and nodded. They covered the next couple of miles in silence.

"It wouldn't surprise me if Hacker is tone deaf," he said, out of the blue.

"And you are thinking about Hacker now because?"

"If I can give you another edge over Hacker can I have another five brownie points?" Ah, still a dog with a bone, just approaching from another direction.

"If this involves stringing him up with a harp wire, no!"

"It's something he himself will never think off… something you'll never think off." House persisted. Okay, she was intrigued.

"It would have to be significant cost savings," she parried.

"How about… 50% saving on drug dosages?" He tempted. Not possible, she thought. What game was he playing?

"You going into rehab?" she hazarded.

"No."

"Dealing in fake drugs yourself?"

"No."

"Going to cut them with icing sugar?"

"No."

"Not going to prescribe them?" She was running out of dodges but that didn't mean that House had.

"No. Are you going to hear me out?"

"Sure."

"Do I get my brownie points?"

"Tell me what you've got first." She was fairly certain that House would cave whether it was a ruse or not. He didn't really have much to lose and he knew she'd be fair… ish.

"Soothing music seems to lower heart rate and blood pressure, and studies show that music can be a valuable companion to traditional treatments for cancer, stroke and postoperative pain. They've been looking at ways of using music to calm patients with anxiety disorders or boost depressed patients. A music program was designed for patients to listen to for 30 minutes a day, five days a week, to improve mood. It was in an article called 'Take two stanzas and call me in the morning'. Then a 20 year study from Germany, showed surprising beneficial effects from music. For both short and long term treatments there were significant differences between music and non-music groups in relation to stress and anxiety. The music programme had the practical effect of reducing drug dosages by as much as 50%. Just think of the cost savings to the hospital if you implemented it."

"Why do I detect a Machiavellian aroma to this… admittedly interesting, idea? Let's see. Could this be coming round to you needing to play your guitar at work in order to reduce your Vicodin consumption?"

"Oh, yea of little faith. I already use my iPod for that purpose. My pain might 'need' a lot more Vicodin if not for that. So do I get my brownie points?"

"Hmmm, it's only 'up to' 50% and you haven't given me any proof."

"Hey…" He was going to object that they were in the car and she knew he'd have the proof, but this would count as fair play in House's book. She didn't let him elaborate.

"Still… I suppose it would be worth… three." She kept her face immobile while smirking on the inside.

"Three!" He roared, an astounded look on his face. "Mooom."

"Three," she returned, calmly. Snigger.

"I'm saving you tens of thousands of dollars and you'll only give me three!"

"Yet to be proved." She reminded him. He gripped the steering wheel tighter and his thought processes went into overdrive.

"It's the same mechanism that affects behavioural responses. Like driving faster when exciting or aggressive music is heard on the car radio. Louder background music in bars increases the speed that customers consume drink, resulting in increased revenue. If there's fast music people tend to drink a can of soda faster than slower music. While with slow music in restaurants people take longer dining but spend more money on food and drink. You could get more profit in the hospital restaurant by playing background music."

"People would just talk louder. And, it's not appropriate to the hospital. It's not our core business or an area we expect to make a profit in."

"But it might reduce your losses," he wheedled.

"To achieve that I just need you to stop stealing bagels!"

"Oh, come on! It's got to be worth a couple of brownie points!"

"I'll give you one for effort."

"One! But Mooooooooom!"

"One." And House was back to the furious thinking. It was quite entertaining.

"Okay, Dr Bureaucrat. Research has shown that people like listening to music, well, music they like, whilst at work. It makes workers happier. And the real plus for you budget Nazis is that a third of employees are less likely to take time off. Look it up on the UK Institute of Leadership & Management's website. They estimated that millions of sick days could be avoided simply by switching on the radio. That's got to be another tens of thousands of dollars saving idea and therefore worth at least another three brownie points."

"That's got to be at least a factor of ten exaggeration. And I detect another Machiavellian 'I need a guitar at work' opening."

"Oh, come on! Neither you nor Hacker have come up with such radical but simple solutions to saving money."

"I'm not saying it's not worth considering."

"So I get the brownie points."

"Mmmm, okay. Two more brownie points." She let House bask in a moment of smugness. "I'm surprised though."

"At what?"

"At you wanting brownie points rather than time off clinic duty."

"Why would I want…." He started to ask, clearly puzzled.

"Well, as these are suggestions for work I can't give you personal favours in return…"

"Shit!" A beat. "Oh, fuck!" She laughed at his chagrin. A laugh that went from the tips of her toes to the follicles on her head, her eyes sparkling.

"Don't worry I won't deduct any points for that," she said, when she got her breath back. "Provided you get me home in one piece," she temporized. "And, I'm still going to need you to say it?"

He rolled his eyes.

"It. I'm glad that's out of the way." She maintained a dignified silence. After a while he spoke again. "I'm going to need you to say it." Now they both had the deer in headlights look. And, she was no closer to bringing up Llyn.

The inside temperature of the car should have been approaching boiling point as two high functioning brains rattled away to themselves full steam ahead. However, all outward appearances seemed normal. She was running out of time. They were already in her neighbourhood. She, gathered her courage to broach Llyn. She sighed. House looked across at her.

"House…?"

"Hmmm?" She stalled.

"House…"

"Still here."

"I err… have to tell you something."

"Oh!" he looked across at her quickly before turning his eyes back to the road.

She stalled again. Despite the fact that House had slowed to the speed limit, her street was approaching rapidly.

"You need to let the words out of your head and into your mouth to actually tell me something not just let them spin round and around in your head. I'm not psychic – more's the pity. Unless you've discovered a mind meld technique…"

"It's personal… private."

"Then you've already rehearsed it a thousand times – so just spit it out."

"It's private, House."

"I got that bit." She sighed. He indicated for the turn.

"Tricky, isn't it. You want me to promise not to tell a living soul but you know everybody lies, me especially, so what's the point in asking me. Yet you can't go forward without at least a gesture. So, I promise not to tell, Cuddy. Does that make you feel better? Will it make you more angry if I tell now I've promised not to? Trouble is I like your anger – your eyes sparkle so, your chest heaves – it's a real turn on."

"House…" she admonished.

"Okay, okay. I won't tell and I haven't got my fingers crossed – unless it's a really juicy piece of gossip." She glared at him. "Joking. A little japelet. Just spit it out."

He pulled up to her house. She sighed again.

"It's about Llyn…"

"Is this the bit where you tell me you're still in love with him?" he asked, staring straight ahead.

"No." He looked relieved but continued to stare out of the windscreen.

"Are you giving up on acquiring brownie points?" That at least made him look at her.

"Huh?"

"Aren't you going to see me to the door?" House looked a bit non-plussed, then switched the engine off, came round to open her door, lent a hand so she could get out of the car and walked with her to her front door.

"You already told me he cheated on you. So, if you're going to tell me you now hate men and keep an ice pick under the mattress, that's fine. It'll just add a little spice to our interactions."

She gave him an appraising look.

"You better come in." And suddenly, he looked like the rabbit and she was the fox.


	54. Holy cow! I think he's going to make it

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

Man has no choice but to love. For when he does not, he finds his alternatives lie in loneliness, destruction and despair - Robert Fritz

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

"… Come in," she'd said. Simple enough request but he froze. All these months of trying to slither into her life and here he was, invited, and he froze. Caught between the hope of something more than coffee and the chance to end the evening without a cock up – although, literally that wouldn't be true. But like a moth to a flame he couldn't resist. He followed her in.

He lurked in the hallway while she dismissed the babysitter unsure what to do with himself. Sure the 'Come in' was related to the 'I need to tell you something' but was this a long conversation or a short conversation? Should he be sitting down for either conversation or should he be as close to the door as possible for a quick get away? Whatever conversation it was… whatever Cuddy felt compelled to share, if he didn't have a ready response… He was going to mess up. Perhaps he should go. But if he went… he would mess up… sigh. Why did human interactions have to be so complicated?

"Go sit in the living room. I'll bring some coffee through," said Cuddy. Right. Living room. He limped in and looked around as if he'd never seen the place. He looked for anything new but there was nothing noteworthy. He sat on the edge of the couch, cane between his legs as he spun it backwards and forwards. He really wanted to bounce it up and down but suspected that the noise would annoy Cuddy. And, for once, he didn't want to annoy Cuddy. It might even wake the baby which would have him scolded from two sides and he'd be making a swift exit.

And although a swift exit strategy was good and needed as a general policy for making progress with Cuddy, one not of his own volition by waking Cuddy junior was not a good plan. Keeping his mouth shut was a good strategy but may well be misinterpreted. Sitting here perched on the edge of the couch was also not a good strategy – it made him look nervous, keen to go, uncomfortable with his surroundings. This was where he wanted to be after all. Well, he'd prefer to be closer to the bedroom… on the bed would be even better, in the bed naked better still. The addition of a naked Cuddy would be perfect… although he'd settle for mostly naked. He sat back and stretched his arms along the back trying… not to look cocky but comfortable and at his ease. Coffee with Cuddy or was that Cuddy with coffee arrived, blessedly interrupting his thought processes. If he was sipping his coffee it was an excuse not to speak, right?

Cuddy sipped her coffee from the chair opposite. Then sighed. She put her coffee down. Then twiddled with her earring. This was not looking good. He was going to lose patience any minute now. He fidgeted on the couch. She sighed again.

"Is this supposed to be a companionable silence?" he ventured. It was at least sufficient to poke Cuddy's mind out of whatever loop it had been in.

"I know I told you that Llyn cheated…"

"With the local tart," he butted in. Then grimaced. Keep mouth shut. Keep mouth shut, he repeated in a mantra. She looked at him surprised.

"You're guessing."

"No. You told me that, too," he replied. She looked astounded.

"I told you?" He nodded in response

"You were pretty thorough in your telling. So no need to go through the emotional stress of telling me again." She looked sceptical. "What surprised me was your complete lack of vindictiveness… you were just… disappointed and resigned." Now she began to look angrily suspicious.

"You questioned me while I was stoned?" she asked, an edge to her voice.

"No, you volunteered it." Oh look! The astounded look again. "You were pointing out that all men are lying, cheating, idle bastards and that I am a particularly shining example of the stereotype which is why you'd never date me but I was okay to have sex with as a one time thing. Except, you were trying for a two time thing at the time…"

"I… _I," _she stressed the I, "volunteered the… details?" He nodded, cautiously… there was something about her tone of voice. "What exactly did I tell you?"

"Is this a trick question? You shared with me privately, and I wasn't to tell."

"Now is not the time for circumspection. Now may be the time for circumcision if you don't stop messing about."

"See, with me vindictiveness. How come he got off so lightly?" She glared at him. He smirked and shrugged. "Okay, you asked for it. But you're not going to like it. Llyn Vyvyan Jones… a name like that he was bound to be a loser. Used to know a bloke who employed a guy called Vyvyan but refused to call him that because his wife's name was Vivian – he gave him the choice of being called 'Taff 'or 'Darling'. He chose…"

"Get on with it!" She interrupted him with a glare. Perhaps he could short cut this without upsetting her with the gory details. Not that the gory details bothered him but they obviously bothered her and he didn't want to be the shot messenger.

"He brought you a glass of wine in the garden afterwards," he tried.

"Are you going to do this backwards?" She was unimpressed. Now it was his turn to sigh.

"Do we really have to do this? You'll only get mad."

"Yes."

"Fine. You got off work early one day, decided to cook a nice meal, bought stuff on the way home including a nice bottle of wine. Got home, saw Llyn's car on the drive, thought yippee our lucky day, we can make the most of the weekend, starting with a romantic evening. He didn't greet you at the door to help you carry the shopping in. You drop the stuff in the kitchen. The house is surprisingly quiet but suspicion far from your mind you wander through to the bedroom thinking maybe he's not well and gone to bed. Slightly disappointed, you enter the bedroom quietly trying not to disturb him sleeping only to be met by the sight of great humping buttocks – you catch him in flagrante delicato with the local tart or desperate housewife from number six- however you like to think of her. Surprisingly, you don't castrate him on the spot. You walk back downstairs, out into the garden and sit staring blankly at the flowers. Some time later a hand appears over your shoulder offering a glass of wine and a sorry. Again surprisingly, you drank the wine and he lived to tell the tale… not surprisingly, you now have trust issues."

"Shut up. You're right. You'll be pleased to know you're right. I'm mad. Why did I tell you?"

"I told you, you were trying to talk me into sex. You were feeling a little mellow at the time – even towards me. I know, almost unbelievable. Anyway, I think you were explaining how I'm an unreliable, unfaithful dog and you won't be caught like that again… although strictly speaking it wasn't you that was caught. I refuted…"

"How could you refute?" she asked, flabbergasted. "You've dated more than one woman at once…"

"You've dated more than one man at once!"

"But…" Ha! That stalled her.

"But what? That was different? They all knew about each other? I've never double dated… when it counted. I'm King Whathisname – I make sure I've knocked the current one off before proceeding to the next."

"But he ended up with the one wife." Wife! Danger, danger Will Robinson. Wife? Where had that come from? Cuddy probably dreamed about a happy little family, but awake, she was far too pragmatic to think that way… surely? Actually, maybe not. Then again, maybe he was being oversensitive. Perhaps that had just been a throw away comment. He snorted to himself. No, this was Cuddy laying emotional land mines again. If he wasn't careful she'd be setting them up to fail before they even started.

"That he did - in happy ever after land."

"And you don't believe in happy ever after?"

"No. Maybe occasionally less miserable land." Well, a man could hope, even if it did make him a sissie. Here, he was hoping that he'd said enough to stop Cuddy laying that particular mine.

"So, you're trying to tell me you're a reliable, faithful and loyal hound who doesn't chew the furniture or pee in corners?"

"Don't want you going round thinking all men are two-timing, unfaithful, sweet talking love machines. Some are one-timing, faithful, sharp-tongued love machines. Is it easier when someone else relates it back?"

"Yes." She thought for a few moments. "Why have you not mentioned this before?"

"Why would I have done?" She snorted.

"Why wouldn't you have done?"

"I... err… didn't come by the information… honestly."

"You don't come by any of your information honestly!" But it seems different when I haven't ferreted it out, he thought.

"Admittedly, I'm not above taking advantage of someone's stoned state. But, I don't use all the information I gather immediately. Sometimes I hoard it in case it comes in useful later."

She was lost in thought. He tried not to fidget but after a few minutes of what felt like hours he couldn't stand it any longer.

"Is that it?" he asked, moving to get off the couch.

"No," she said firmly. He sat back down. "It wasn't just the cheating. It was the lies."

"Everybody lies," he shrugged.

"You know he tried to sue me… I've forgotten what for exactly… loss of earnings or loss of expectation. He was expecting to be a kept man. It was rather salutary. The man had just been after my lifestyle to which he wished to become accustomed."

"Ouch! That's low!"

"You lie all the time – especially to me."

"Not all the time. And, not especially to you!"

"Is that a lie?"

"I only lie to you when I have to."

"No, you don't."

"Mostly when I have to," he hedged.

"House…" She paused. "I… I don't want to find that I'm living my life as a lie."

"Are we getting philosophical?"

"No."

"So you want an open relationship where you can see other people as long as it's up front?" he asked, cagily.

"No!" That's a relief. Not that he was against open relationships in theory but he couldn't do it in practice with her. He was far too possessive.

"Oh. You want a relationship where you're never lied to? That's just ridiculous."

"Is it?"

"Are you sure you'd never want not to be lied to? There'd be no surprises."

"You know that's not what I'm asking."

How did he answer this? Knowing Cuddy, if he answered the question to her satisfaction she'd leap forwards and have them career into a relationship with happy ever after into old age as her goal. If she envisioned them having cross words it would be about him filing his clothes on the floor. She'd look askance, he'd immediately see the error of his ways, leap (to the best of his leapiness) to put them in the laundry basket and all would be sweetness and light. If he said what she didn't want to hear, that would no doubt have Cuddy slamming the door on the possibility of ever having a relationship with him. But how could he in all honesty say he'd never cheat… no, that's not what she was after, that he would never lie if he did cheat? It would be a preservation instinct to lie.

"I don't want to give you the wrong impression. You know me - even if I promised not to lie, I probably would, even if that was not what I intended."

"Can you make promises you can keep, House?"

"Yes. But I don't have a problem breaking some either. It depends on what I'm promising."

"Promise that if you do cheat you won't lie." House did a guppy impression. "I know you'll lie. I know you'll manipulate. I know you'll be a complete ass. I know you're emotionally stunted. I'm just asking this one thing. The rest I won't like but you can work on… as in not doing it to me – we'll leave the rest of the world for now – no point aiming for something you'll never accomplish in one lifetime. That doesn't mean I won't be upset if you lie or cheat. In fact, I might even remove another pound of flesh… actually, no, I won't be greedy, a few ounces will do."

She gave a wavery smile at the end but House knew she was trying to lighten what for her was a deadly serious issue.

His hands gripped his cane and he stared straight ahead. A solemn promise… he didn't like to rush into these things. He'd known something like this was coming but when it came to the crunch… He didn't want to glibly give her what she wanted then fudge passed it at a later date. Apart from the fact Cuddy could, sometimes, be amazing astute, he wanted to give her what she wanted. He wanted to make her happy.

Right now, looking at her in that dress it would be very easy to say what she wanted to hear and then make them both happy but that road lead to temporary… very temporary. And he didn't want very temporary. He didn't even want temporary but he was realistic. He also knew Cuddy. She might say that it was just the one thing but, if she came to trust him, philandering would be a deal breaker too. Still, he didn't intend to cheat. If she was his it would be extremely unlikely that he would cheat, so lying if he did cheat shouldn't ever be a problem. The question was… would she really be his or would she only give part of herself?

"Do you think it would work?" he asked, finally.

"It? You mean would we work?" He nodded.

"I don't know. I'm trying to find out whether it's worth starting," she said, impatiently. She was probably feeling a little exposed.

"Is this a friends with benefits arrangement?"

"No."

"See, I knew you wanted the whole caboodle."

"And you don't?" She continued to gaze at him enquiringly. His eyes dropped to her cleavage. He sighed. He stared somewhere over her left shoulder.

"I… er umm… I wouldn't… if we started anything… I wouldn't… provided you didn't hold out on me… I wouldn't cheat on you ergo I wouldn't lie to you about it." He mumbled the last as if it was some embarrassing confession. She grinned. Her lack of verbal response had him snapping his eyes back to look at her.

"You're… smiling." She nodded. "That's a good smile?" She nodded again. "How good?"

"Maybe ten brownie points worth." The penny finally dropped and he almost broke out into a smile. Part of him was elated. The other part was terrified. Result… he did nothing.

"The holding out part, though… will be entirely dependant on how much you annoy me and how frequently."

"But that's not work related annoying, is it?"

"It might be."

"That's going to be awkward. If you can't compartmentalize…"

"House, if you do something at work that gives me a headache, then I'm going to have a headache when I get home. Therefore, I'm not going to feel like sex."

"But sex is good for headaches - it releases endorphins, gets the blood flowing, eases tension."

"I'm not saying you're not welcome to try. I'm sure, with practice, you'll get better at not annoying me." She smiled gently. It was doing funny things to his chest… and his trousers. She looked at him expectantly. What did he do now? He needed to just do and not think. Bedroom, naked, sex, not necessarily in that order but were they ready? Was he ready? Was she ready for the right reason? He couldn't decide. He couldn't articulate what he wanted. He stood up intending to leave. She looked expectant and then exasperated when she saw his face. She stood up and blocked his exit.

"You are an idiot," she said. Huh? Me? "You spend months on the chase, enjoying the challenge but then when you're about to pounce you suddenly wonder will it work, do you deserve it, will she say the magic words, can I say the right words? There's probably a dozen other who, what, whys and wherefores that I can't be bothered listing right now. For an erudite man of action you're amazingly gauche when out of your comfort zone. For someone who dodges administrative tasks as if they were toxic you seem penned in by a maze of your own bureaucracy. Piles of complications here, walls of dos and don'ts there, pillars of rejections there, bins full of regrets to trip the unwary, a small folder of successes hidden at the bottom of a locked filing cabinet stuck in a disused lavatory with a sign on the door saying 'Beware of the Leopard' which you need a flashlight to read. And, having walled yourself into your own tower of bureaucracy you have no idea how to get out. You've spent so long dodging you've clueless how to deal with it when that's no longer an option."

"I'm in a tower?" As far as he was concerned, she'd been the one walled into her own fortress.

"Oh yes! Fortunately, if there is one thing I know about it is bureaucracy, though you rate such skills lowly. Sometimes…" She laid her hand on his chest. He looked down then up quickly. His heart speeded up. "You just have to cut through it." She smiled, wickedly, then pushed. House was startled. His arms flailed but gravity prevailed and the immovable object gave way to the irresistible force. House fell backwards… onto the couch. He blinked.

"Why did you…" he started, as he looked up at her. She was coming towards him hitching up her skirt. She put one knee one side of his and one knee to the other side straddling his lap. Her hands on his shoulders, she gave him a questioning look. He swallowed, licked his lips but was speechless.

She saw him glance at her lips. She smiled and leaned forward… and kissed him, gently but encouragingly, touching her tongue to his lips. He was too stunned to react. She pulled away. For one awful moment he was paralysed. He could see that she thought she had misjudged, that he wasn't going to respond. She dropped her eyes as she hid the hurt and started to move away. He grabbed her elbows.

"No! I mean yes… I mean… this." He pulled her to him and kissed her back. She responded deepening the kiss.

The dam burst. It was fast. It was furious. It was a pyroclastic explosion. Not a stitch of clothing was taken off - although stitching on seams succumbed to the strain. Buttons were sent flying and material was torn in their efforts to see, touch, taste and penetrate. She wanted to run her hands over his chest, he wanted to run his tongue over her breasts – everything else was niceties and could wait.

The only other nicety was to push her thong out of the way and pull him out of his boxers and they were off, or on, or up, or in… and rocketing towards the stratosphere. Before they knew it, they were head to head, gasping for breathe, before the clock struck midnight.

Oh, God! They'd done it now. Neither of them knew whether to laugh or cry or cheer. Pushed up and dragged down, Cuddy's dress was bunched around her waist. He stroked her back with his fingers tips in awe that he was finally allowed to touch but also to savour the feel of her skin – there was every possibility that Cuddy would panic, do a U-turn and declare him the last man she'd ever have sex with again.

Actions during the afterglow were important – he knew this. He'd read it. This was the time oxytocin came into play. The longer he could keep Cuddy in skin contact the more likely she was to bond. The more she bonded, the more likely he was to have her like this again. Well, not quite like this. Less clothes would be good. And something a little slower would also be good. Not that he was complaining. There'd been no opportunity for either of them to over think, over analyse, or lose their nerve. However, now they had to deal with that.

Oh God! She was raising her head, lifting her eyes to his. There it was, the quirk of the eyebrow. She needed him to say something. She expected him to say something. He'd have to go on instinct. He opened his mouth hoping something appropriate would come out.

"Is it a bit late to mention safe sex?" She smiled wryly shaking her head.

"Have you engaged in any risky activities since your last blood work?" she asked in return.

"Insulted a few people in the clinic, insulted that male nurse…"

"House?" He smirked and shook his head. They stared at each other for a few moments before she continued. "Is that the sum total of your after sex conversation?"

"You put out," he grinned.

"So did you," she returned.

"Fucking amazing!" he said. She gave a tenderly, exasperated smile.

"Have you got anything you want to add to that?"

"Swing boat don't forget, your turn."

"Chicken!" He pulled a confused face.

"Fucking amazing chicken? Is that really what you're thinking about now?"

"House!" He squirmed under her gaze.

"I might be able to elaborate on my points if we retire to your bedroom and get naked…"

Rachel's wails were heard over the baby monitor. They gave each other a wry smile.

"Saved by the wail, again."

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.


End file.
